High, Dry, and Flooded
by Zebeckras
Summary: Webfoot continuity and BRAND NEW! WOW! A crime wave involving water seems easy enough to solve, but things are never as simple as they seem... neither in Darkwing's crimefighting, or in Drake's personal life.
1. Act I, Chapter 1

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

_A/N: Okay, the start of a new story! Freaky! Alright, this one will probably come rather slowly but I hope to have it done by the end of this year... well, really I hope to have it done sooner than that but we'll see. I don't have too many notes to start you off on but the main one is that this one, you'll see quickly, contradicts the very first Webfoot story ("My Kingdom For a Double-Plait Bolt") in terms of Beth and LP meeting. This is because I intend to rewrite that first story and change a number of things - this has been on my to-do list for a while now. Very few of them will affect the later stories, but obviously it affects them in this way. To sum up, in the rewrite of the first story Beth and Launchpad will have met several times as he's come in to shop. (It is, however, the first time she meets Drake.) _

_Beyond that, I don't really think there's too much I need to get into. This story does take place shortly after "Something In the Air" and presumably right after "Peachy Keen" (though it doesn't refer to the latter at all), and a little while before "The House on Avian Way", say maybe two or two and a half months before it. Hope you like!_

* * *

**Act I**

The manager of the downtown jewelry store had vacuumed, and polished the cases, and raised the bars over the windows. Now, clutching the bank deposit tightly in one hand, he tapped the arming code into the store's alarm system and made his hasty way out of the building, locking the doors behind him.

It was shortly after 10 pm, and as the manager made a quick dash for his car to drive himself to the bank, he failed to notice the shadow on the far left of the store.

The shadow noticed him. It watched him pull out of the parking lot and speed away. It stood silently for some moments more, waiting. The shadow had waited all day, and much of the previous day as well. It had waited until it was certain it knew the interior of the building, how to get in and how to get out, and how to keep the alarms from going off.

Less than ten minutes after the manager had gone, the shadow made its careful way to the front door of the store. Hidden in the darkness, it remained nearly invisible as it entered the store; no witnesses would have known how the shadow had made it inside.

Of course, there were no witnesses anyway.

The alarms were taken care of quickly. The shadow, coming to its full height, found its way into the jewelry cases and picked out what it liked best.

* * *

"MOM!! Loopy's chewin' on Corduroy again!"

His mother pulled her head out from beneath the hood of the plane she was tuning up, and sighed. "Launchpad, sweetie, your sister's only two, and she loves that bear."

"Then why's she chewin' on him?" At age eight, Launchpad McQuack had found that the only thing more aggravating than having his baby sister get into all of his things was having his parents defend her for doing it. HE didn't chew up the stuff HE loved, after all.

With a patient smile and a slightly grease-smudged face, his mother patted him on his cheek and left a little grey handprint. "Honey, she's just a baby. She doesn't know how to be gentle with things she loves, yet." She fished for a handkerchief, then licked it and started rubbing his face clean. "If you share with her now, she'll remember how important it is to do the same when she gets older!"

He squirmed under the handkerchief. "Mooooom-!"

And all of a sudden, it was decades later, and Launchpad was back where he'd been a few minutes ago - well, where he'd been the whole time, really.

It was still upside down. No, strike that, _he_ was still upside-down, and he had a feeling it was starting to get to him. Next to him, Darkwing was fidgeting in silence, shifting his arms and shoulders in the chains that were holding him.

"Whoa. It happened again," he told Darkwing. This got no response, but Launchpad wasn't waiting for one, anyway. "I was eight this time, an' my Mom was tellin' me I had to share my teddy bear with my little sister... Heh, I still have that bear, y'know? Loopy just about chewed his ear off, but..."

"Launchpad." DW's voice was quiet, but very forceful. "Unless this has anything to do with escaping Dr. Slug's latest death trap, please do me the favour of _shutting up_ until I ask your opinion."

Launchpad was unfazed; DW was understandably tense at a time like this. "Sorry, DW. I just thought it was interesting - I mean, how many times does your life really flash before your eyes, anyway? Hey - how many times has YOUR life flashed before your eyes?"

Darkwing sighed. "Launchpad - WHAT did I JUST say?"

"Oh yeah. Sorry." He'd have shrugged in apology, but gravity was sort of making it hard to keep his shoulders from being right around his neck anyway, so there wasn't much point.

He sighed. What a way to go - captured by Dr. Slug and hung, chained and upside down, in the abandoned meat-packing factory on the outskirts of St. Canard. Of all the ways his and Darkwing's adventures might have ended, he'd _never_ thought of this... Well, maybe once or twice. The one thing he wondered was, did the fact that his life was actually flashing before his eyes mean he was definitely going to die, or was it just because all the blood was rushing to his head? Maybe that was causing him to see things, or...

He blinked, surprised to have sunlight in his eyes, as though he hadn't been outside all this time. With a shake of his head to clear it, he pushed open the door to the hardware store. Maybe that girl would be working again today; she'd said she usually worked Wednesdays, or at least he thought he remembered her saying that.

No sign of her as he came in; he felt a little disappointed. Well, he _had_ come for an actual reason, not just to try and flirt with the store clerk, so he gave a mental shrug and let the door fall shut behind him. The first item on the list he'd brought were wire-cutters, and last time he'd been in, they'd been in the far aisle from the door, so he started off that way.

Breathlessly, a figure burst through the door behind the counter and screeched to a halt before hitting anything. "Sorry! I'm sorry! Can I - oh. Hi."

He broke into a grin. She WAS here! "Hey!" he said cheerfully. She'd recognized him, too! He decided to overlook the way she'd suddenly gone quiet when she made the mental connection; just the fact that she remembered him, out of all the people she probably saw each day, was pretty cool.

"Did - did the, um, the screws work out?"

"Oh yeah, I wanted to tell you. You were right, they were a good substitution. You should go into repair work." She snorted, and shook her head. He shoved his list into his pocket, and approached her. "So, how's it goin'?"

"Oh, um..." She fidgeted, playing with the hem of what he had thought at first was a skirt but now recognized as a shop apron. "Uh, slow, so far. I mean - did you mean the store?"

He shrugged, and laughed. She laughed too, uncertainly, and then blurted out, "I'll be right back," and headed back to the door she'd just come in through.

"Something wrong?" he asked, a little alarmed.

She paused. "No - it's just, my, my manager told me to let her know if you... Uh-" She cut herself off, suddenly blushing. "Um, if you ever came back in here... She just... said that."

Launchpad blinked in surprise. "Really? Did I do somethin' wrong before?"

"Oh, no!" the girl said emphatically, and put a hand to her mouth. "She just... well..." More blushing. "I-I don't - really have to get her," she finally said, and after looking for a moment like she was trying to go in three directions at once without moving, she put her hands behind her back and smiled sheepishly, but sincerely.

She had a great smile; he'd noticed that the first time he'd met her, too. Friendly and, well, kinda cute, too. In fact, the more she smiled, the less he seemed to be able to think of to say, no matter how much more it made him _want_ to talk to her.

"So..." She began hesitantly, then cleared her throat and appeared to steel herself. "How can I help you today?"

"Oh - uh..." He pulled the list he'd brought with him out of his pocket, and consulted it. "Uh, lemme see... we need wire-cutters, red spraypaint number 42, a thirty-foot insulated extension cord, an' a 3/4-inch socket." She hesitated, evidently deciding which way to go, then took off to his left. Assuming she was going after something on his list, he followed her; after a moment he added, "Oh, and while I'm at it, how 'bout your name?"

She was reaching for a can of spraypaint and didn't even seem to notice for a moment - it was as her hand closed around the can that she came to a standstill, blinked slowly, then gradually turned rather pink. "My - um...? My name? Why...?"

"Oh, no reason, no reason," he said hastily. "Just wondered. I mean, I'll tell you mine too - it's Launchpad, Launchpad McQuack - an', uh, I can just go look for the stuff on the list here..."

Still blushing sweetly, she looked at her feet and quietly said, "Beth. Webfoot." She looked up at him and smiled again. "I'm Beth."

Launchpad felt a little light-headed all of a sudden. "Hi, Beth."

She blushed even more, and said softly, "Hi... Launchpad."

And he was upside down again. Or still. Whatever... this was getting weird. "Hey, DW," he tried. "Do ya think -"

Aggravated sigh. "Launchpad, for the third time in _five seconds_, I'd like to do this without distractions!"

"Sorry. Hey, just five seconds? I thought it was a lot longer than that!"

Next to him, there was a snap. "No," Darkwing said in a choked voice, obviously pained, "only - five."

"Y'okay?"

"I just - forgot - how much this - hurts," Darkwing managed. A few more cracks, then another loud snap, and he breathed a sigh of obvious relief.

Launchpad found this intriguing. And maybe it wouldn't go against the rule DW had just set down about breaking his concentration, since it was about the same thing. "Uh, what exactly are ya doin' there, DW?" He tried to turn his head and look, but at their angle it wasn't easy. Gravity was keeping his head pretty much in one position.

"An old trick taught to me many years ago by Brother Camoo, Launchpad. It was while I was studying in Siberia, and I lived with a brotherhood of monks who taught me the art of mind over body." Launchpad had been right, it seemed, in guessing that Darkwing wouldn't mind talking about this as he did it. This was more than DW had said at one time since Dr. Slug had hung them up here and then left them, almost an hour ago. "It's all a matter of the proper breathing techniques, and then the joints of the body can be manipulated to flex in any direction..."

"I get it! So you're gonna get out of those chains by breathin' the right way!"

Darkwing paused for effect. "Not _exactly_, LP. But through flexing and some minor dislocations - I should be able to loosen these chains enough to -"

The door swung open, interrupting the hero from his explanation of his escape plan. Light reflected off of the reflective piece Dr. Slug always wore on his forehead as the huge pseudopod slid into the room. Two smaller slugs flanked him, their faces showing no sign of intelligence at all. "Do you know the advantage of using an abandoned meat-packing factory as a hideout, Darkwing Duck?" he asked, in a voice that crawled up and down Launchpad's spine, leaving little sticky trails in its wake.

"Free beef jerky?" Darkwing shot back angrily. Launchpad shot a glance at him - he was nearly halfway out of his bindings, but it wasn't enough.

_We're gonna get out of this. We always do,_ Launchpad thought desperately, but it seemed more empty than usual. He swallowed. _Beth..._

Oblivious, Dr. Slug laughed. It sounded like slurping. "Oh, funny, little duck. Actually I was thinking of the the variety of machines at my disposal... So many ways for you to die. I've decided to let you go gourmet, Darkwing... You'll make a terrific duck pate. Your friend is a bit more lower-class - I think maybe a sausage..."

Darkwing raised an eyebrow, which was an odd expression from an upside down perspective. "Your minions are eating the machinery, Sluggy."

"Wh-" Dr. Slug swung his bulk around and found his goons chewing messily on a grinder behind him. "Oh, knock it off, will you?! Throw me a bone here." He swung a slab of flesh in their direction, knocking them both upside their heads.

The distraction was enough. Darkwing forgot delicacy and forced the chains, managing to drag one arm free; from there he pulled the other out with few problems, and then tugged the loosened chains from his feet, dropping to the floor with what was certainly intended to be cat-like grace. Unfortunately, the extended period spent upside-down had weakened his sense of balance, and he just landed in a heap on the floor.

"All right, DW!!" Launchpad cheered excitedly.

Dr. Slug whirled back around, looking furious. "No, you don't!" He lunged at Darkwing with non-slug-like speed. The hero just barely managed to roll out of the way, and scrambled to his feet on the rebound. Dr. Slug blew a frustrated breath of air out of what might have been nostrils - if slugs had such things - and narrowed his eyes. "Very well, then. You can postpone your own death, and just watch your friend go first," he snarled. Launchpad's eyes went wide as a slimy pod-foot grabbed him and held him fast, dragging him off the hook he'd been hanging from and across the room to the intended death trap.

He was coated in slime, could hardly see anything - but somehow out of the corner of his eye, he made out Darkwing's figure. Running away. Hoboy. No, he wasn't leaving, he was... planning something. Right?

_Right??_

"DW?!" he called desperately, and got slug slime in his mouth for his effort. "Ewwww!" He cringed and started spitting.

Suddenly, nearby, he heard a smacking sound and then a sizzle. Dr. Slug turned to see his two henchmen shrinking away, squeaking pitifully. "WHAT?!" he growled.

Still no Darkwing in sight, but his voice rang out loud and clear. "You'd better let my sidekick go, Sluggy. Unless of course you want to be spiced into nothing, like your mooks down there."

"You're bluffing!" Dr. Slug shot a nervous glance at the still-bubbling spots where his cohorts had been, but resolved his face into a glare. "You can't reach me before I -" He broke off and squealed in pain as something hit his flank. Launchpad, who had been more or less held aloft by what passed for the huge slug's arms, was dropped to the ground - still immersed in slime, unfortunately.

Dr. Slug looked around. "You think you've won?!" he slobbered, drool and slime running from his mouth in his panic. "This isn't the last of me!"

A few feet away from him, Darkwing dropped to the ground and pulled something out of his cape. "Eat salt, pseudopod," he growled, and lobbed it at the slug.

It made heavy impact, spattering and falling all over Dr. Slug. The creature's wail was cringe-worthy; squealing and steaming, Dr. Slug fled the factory, shrinking as he went. When DW saw him last, he was the size of a kitten, and likely wouldn't stop any time soon.

"Whew," Darkwing breathed, and let his shoulders slump at last. "Don't think we'll be seeing him for a while - if at all. Launchpad? Any lasting damage?"

With effort, Launchpad lifted his head up from where it felt glued to the floor. "I think I know what the floor of a movie theatre feels like," he said weakly.

Darkwing offered him a hand and pulled him up, but clearly regretted it a moment later. "Ugh. Tell me you keep towels in the ThunderQuack, LP."

"I'm startin' after today," Launchpad said sincerely, shaking his arm and flinging loose slime across the room.


	2. Act I, Chapter 2

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the delay! I made a rule that I could only post after I'd written some more (even though I'm ahead), and finding time and inspiration to write is just... troublesome. Bleah._

* * *

**Act I, chapter 2**

The toast popped up from the toaster.

Beth grabbed both slices, yelped quietly when they proved to be a bit too hot for her bare hand, and rushed them to the countertop so that they could await the peanut butter she was now fishing through the refrigerator for. When she had trouble finding any, it occurred to her that the Mallards might not even _have_ peanut butter in their kitchen, or at the least might not be keeping it in the refrigerator.

She went to the kitchen door. "Gos?"

"What?" the ten-year-old called from the living room rug where she was intently watching TV.

"Where do you keep your peanut butter?"

The answer took no apparent thought. "Pantry, top shelf. Over the sink."

"Ah. Thanks!" She turned back into the kitchen, and considered that maybe her family was the only one who kept peanut butter in the fridge. Maybe other people would consider it strange, or something. She couldn't even tell anymore.

Oh, well. Maybe if she didn't say anything, nobody would know, and she wouldn't have to even find out if it was strange. The _last_ thing she needed was to call attention to her habits that other people might think odd...

She finished coating the twin pieces of toast with peanut butter, added a hearty layer of maple syrup, and stuck the pieces together before returning with her snack to the living room.

"What's so fascinating?" Beth asked as she seated herself on the couch, well behind where Gosalyn was still involved in uninterrupted eye-contact with the television.

"Show on vivisection," Gosalyn returned dispassionately.

Beth spit out the mouthful she'd been starting to chew and dove for the remote control. "Oh my GOD! That's horrible -" She fumbled with the remote and dropped it, and the batteries spilled out of the back.

Gosalyn laughed and turned around as Beth tried to replace the batteries with sticky fingers. "Relax, I was _kidding_. Boy, you're easy." She grinned, and turned back to the TV. "It's just a wrestling match. Y'know, one of the fake ones."

Beth stuck out her tongue in distaste, but stopped trying to fix the remote at break-neck speed. "Gah. Wrestling. Oh well, I _guess_ it's better than vivisection... And Gosalyn, you have a SICK sense of humour." The only answer she got was an amused snicker.

Pro-wrestling was _not_ Beth's cup of tea. She finished off her peanut-butter-and-syrup sandwich and let her mind wander. According to Gosalyn, Launchpad had actually been a pro-wrestler for about two days. Beth wasn't sure what she thought of that.

Then again, she wasn't sure what she thought of Launchpad just now, either.

Well, that was unfair to him. She knew what she thought of him - she adored him, relied on his friendship, confided everything in him, and considered him her best friend. It wasn't so much _Launchpad_ that she was uncertain of - it was how Launchpad saw _her_.

It had been two weeks now since the "love potion" incident, and everyone was exactly as they'd been before it. Drake in particular seemed to be trying his best to forget it ever even happened, and although it hurt her more than she'd ever let on, Beth tried to let him.

But everyone's normality - forced or unforced - only made her more aware of what it had been like when the "spell" was on. And it only brought it home to her how the spell hadn't changed Launchpad at all. She'd noticed it at the time - with Drake, Steelbeak, even men on the street, it was bad poetry and pet names and a sort of stunned exuberance. But not Launchpad; he'd been so normal that at first she hadn't even noticed he'd been affected. Until...

She broke off that chain of thought, blushing. Thinking of _that_ just complicated things. One little kiss - or maybe not _so_ little - nevertheless, it had left her unable to even look at him for a full week without blushing. Well, anyway, it had been proof that he _was_ affected, even if he hadn't seemed to be... or was he?

She hated herself for wondering. She felt like she was making a big deal out of nothing, ruining the strongest friendship she'd ever had with issues based solely on gender - if he weren't a man, if she weren't a woman, would she even be thinking about this? But she couldn't _not_ wonder. Was all of that, the kiss and the obvious jealousy over her engagement to Drake, was it because of the spell? Or would it have happened anyway?

Suddenly, in the aftermath of the love potion debacle, she noticed Launchpad and the way he behaved around her... Always happy to see her, always attentive to her moods, offering to do little favours for her... It was sort of the way she would behave around Drake, if she had the nerve.

Maybe she was being silly. She hoped she was... she hoped this whole thing would pass, because it just put the best thing in her life in a dangerous position. If Launchpad had feelings for her - well, she was in love with Drake. So clearly, nothing could ever happen. But she could never just _tell_ him that. She could never break someone's heart knowingly.

Her head snapped up when the transport chairs spun around. Drake was still upstairs sleeping in, she knew, so there was only one person this could be. She fought the sudden manic urge to get up and hide in the kitchen.

The chairs stopped spinning, and he stood up. Beth was always impressed that he didn't seem to even notice the spinning - it had always made her feel mildly nauseous. "Hey, Beth!" he said cheerfully, and waved before greeting Gosalyn in the same vein. Beth flinched, despite herself.

"Hey, Launchpad. Check it out, wrestling!" Gosalyn pointed at the TV.

"Huh." Launchpad watched it for a few moments in silence, then said, "I still say that stuff isn't fake. It sure hurt like heck when I was doin' it."

Gosalyn shrugged. "Guess it depends on the venue, huh?"

"Guess so. Hey, Beth, you up for lunch? After workin' on the TQ all mornin' I'm _starved_."

"Oh." Beth smiled nervously in apology. "I actually just ate. Sorry." _Was that an excuse? Are you avoiding him??_ her inner neurotic scolded her, and she felt a stab of guilt in her stomach.

Launchpad, on the other hand, didn't seem particularly upset. "Ah, no problemo. I can take a raincheck." He grinned. Beth returned it weakly.

It wasn't that he wasn't a sweetheart. And it wasn't as if he were unattractive, either; it hadn't taken Henny's blathering on about him for her to realize that he really was a handsome guy. It was just that... there was nothing there. She didn't love him, not romantically.

She sighed. Launchpad, as if he had some kind of strange internal Beth-Mood Monitor, noticed. "Somethin' wrong?"

"Uh no! No no!" she stammered, and got up quickly. "I just... that was a yawn. Not a sigh of distress or anything. Just a yawn." She yawned again for emphasis. "Ooooh boy, sleepy."

Gosalyn was staring at her. "Beth? It's called decaff."

As if that were his cue, Drake slunk his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Hi Drake!" Beth called after him, and got no reply.

"He probably won't hear ya 'til he gets his coffee," Launchpad reassured her, although she was already aware of that. "Don't take it personally."

"I'm not," she answered, and immediately wondered if that had come out more snappishly than she'd wanted. Good heavens, was this what life was going to be like from now on? With her second-guessing both Launchpad's and her own motivations? She sighed again, and remembered to turn it into a yawn midway through before Launchpad took note of it.

* * *

Drake downed half of his coffee at once, and then sighed. Better. The roughest nights always called for the best coffee the next morning. And Dr. Slug was _never_ easy...

He made his way back out to the living room, and Beth, the only half-noticed form he'd passed on his way to the coffee, was still there. "Hi Drake!" she said again, and stepped away from Launchpad.

"Hi, Beth," he greeted her routinely as he made his way past her to the couch, and paused to nod a greeting to his sidekick. "LP. How's the ThunderQuack shaping up?"

"Almost got the seats cleaned, DW," Launchpad said matter-of-factly. "I've gotta go back and vaccuum the soap stuff offa them when they're dry and they should be fine."

"The seats?" asked Beth quietly.

Drake chose to ignore her for the moment, until he'd settled in. "Morning, Gos." He leaned over and tousled his daughter's hair, and she spared a moment from the TV to squirm out of his reach and bat at his hand in mock anger.

He figured it would only be another couple of moments before Beth plopped down on the couch again next to him. The whole thing with the love spells had set them all back by a good six months - Beth was as clingy as she'd been before, and Launchpad was mooning over her nearly as much as he'd been when they'd first met. It was, honestly, getting on Drake's nerves.

As expected, Beth made herself comfortable on the other end of the couch, and smiled at him. "What happened to the seats of the ThunderQuack?" she asked him, as if Launchpad weren't able to hold a conversation.

Drake snuck a look over his shoulder to where Launchpad was standing, looking a little bit awkward. Cursing Beth for being so danged oblivious, Drake answered, "Just the remnants of the ride in last night after we got double-dipped in slime. We had a run-in with Dr. Slug, and -"

"Oh my GOSH!" Beth gasped, with far more panic than was needed. She leaned over to him. "Are you both alright?!"

Oh, that was right - her weird little slug phobia. He'd forgotten all about it. Beth was looking from him to Launchpad with concern painted all over her face - as if they were going to tell her that they hadn't managed to escape with their lives, or something.

"Don't we look all right?" he asked, fighting down his irritated reaction to her panic. She meant well, after all; she was a little high-strung, but a sweet kid.

Beth blushed. "Oh, well, yes, it's just... you know, he's Public Enemy #1, and-"

"Oh ye of little faith," Drake said lightly, and returned to his coffee.

"Oh, it's not that!" Beth grasped his arm momentarily, almost desperately. "I have total faith in you!" He raised an eyebrow, and her hands slid away from him in a manner that seemed rather sheepish. "I mean - I just..." She looked up at Launchpad now, who was watching the TV over their heads, and then looked back at Drake. Weakly, she finished, "I worry."

Drake rose to his feet. "Beth, Beth, Beth. You worry too much." He stabbed at the air with his finger, enjoying the opportunity for drama. "Sure, I have one of the most dangerous jobs around, and yes, I face the most vile and virulent criminal minds the city can throw at me. And yes, the potential for death is a daily risk. BUT -" He raised his finger sharply, even higher into the air, "If anyone can play those odds and come out on top, it's Darkwing Duck!"

Beth was nodding, while Launchpad looked thoughtful. Gosalyn rolled her eyes and turned the volume up on the TV, and for a moment the room was filled with a salesman's spiel about his special security system, the only one in the nation that was fully waterproof. Drake looked at her in irritation, and dropped his hand to his side. Beth looked uncertain. "Um... so you beat Dr. Slug, then?"

"Yes. Yes, we beat him." Drake, feeling deflated by how effectively Gosalyn had popped the drama of the moment, opted to get more coffee. "Launchpad can tell you about it."

Launchpad, he noticed as he made a beeline for the kitchen, actually looked a bit hesitant. "Uh, well, do you really wanna hear this story...?" he began, as Beth was looking moderately queasy.

Drake was topping off his mug of coffee when Gosalyn joined him. "Nice speech, Dad," she said sardonically.

"It was, until someone decided the commercials today were more interesting."

Gosalyn regarded him for a moment, then asked, "So do you like Beth or not?"

Drake sighed. "Gos, I've been over this with everyone in this house. Yes, I like her. She can be a little bit much, but I like her. Okay?"

"No, I mean..." she trailed off, paused just long enough to add a significance to the word to follow, and finished with, "LIKE."

"What? No!" He frowned. "I think we've been over _that_, too. Or is this about that love potion again?"

Gosalyn shook her head. "Okay, so why do you keep playing up to her?" Drake, baffled, didn't answer right away. Gosalyn elaborated. "The whole 'danger excitement blah blah blah' thing. With the pointy finger. I mean, Dad, c'mon. She's got a crush on you a mile wide, and when you talk like that she's just gonna think you're even cooler."

"Pft." Drake, despite knowing fully well that Beth did indeed have a crush on him, waved the accusation away. "You're blowing the whole crush thing out of proportion, Gos. Sure, she might be a little starry-eyed around me, but that's normal for any adult woman face-to-face with a superhero."

"Oh, right. Because bathrobes are sooooo dramatic." Drake fingered his current attire, and frowned. Gosalyn made for the cereal cabinet, and pulled out the box of Maple-Frosted Sugar Bombs.

"How many bowls this morning?" Drake asked reflexively.

"Only two."

"You're sure?"

She paused. "And a half."

"Uh-huh. A big half?"

"Aw, come on, Dad! It's part of a nutritious breakfast!"

Drake snorted, and took the box from her hands. "It's noon anyway. Have a ham sandwich or something."

Gosalyn grumbled, and started poking through the refrigerator. "Anyway, Dad, I don't think you're being fair to Beth. I mean, _I_ know you're not into her that way, and Launchpad knows, and I think almost anyone with eyes knows, but I'm not sure _Beth_ knows."

This was something Drake himself had wondered about in the past, and he'd satisfied himself with the rationale that, if everyone else could tell, Beth was likely to figure it out any day now. "Naaah. I mean, everyone's always saying how smart she is, right? She'll pick up on it."

"I don't know... It's been a while now."

He shook his head, refusing to be guilted into anything. "She'll take the hint. Nobody can be that blind forever."

Gosalyn opened the kitchen door a crack to let in a fragment of the conversation Beth and Launchpad were having. "Just lemme know when you're ready to move the couch and I'll be right over!" he was saying.

"Oh no, honestly, I'll manage. Or maybe I'll have a few people or - or I can hire someone! You really don't have to."

"Nah, I want to! C'mon, just call."

"Are you sure?"

Gosalyn let the door swing shut, and eyed her father. "This is BETH we're talking about here."

Drake sighed. "Point taken."


	3. Act I, Chapter 3

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act I, chapter 3**

By the time Drake and Gosalyn made it back into the living room, conversation had died down and the television was once again the loudest voice in the room. Beth was watching disinterestedly, her chin in her hand and her elbow resting on her knee, while Launchpad's mind actually seemed to be elsewhere for once.

"What the heck? They've already played this dumb commercial about fifty times today! Who needs to see it that often?" Gosalyn seemed affronted as she took in the ad playing on the TV. It was the same one from earlier; an exuberant voice extolled the virtues of the Horace Tuo Alarm System, the _only_ security system on the market that was waterproof. The commercial was clearly low budget, consisting mostly of close-ups of the product and one badly filmed shot of a robber in a wet suit running away from a building.

"I guess the advertiser must have spent all his money buying up airtime," said Drake. There was something vaguely familiar about the voice - probably could be chalked up to the fact that it had been on frequently, and most likely not only today. "Why would anyone need a waterproof burglar alarm, though?"

Beth came to attention. "Oh, haven't you heard? There've been these weird robberies lately that leave water damage all over the store's interior. The police can't find any clues other than that, either."

"What? Robberies?" Drake was suddenly at full attention.

"Oh, yeah. Three or four now so they're calling it a crime wave."

"How did I miss this??" He prodded Launchpad. "LP, get ready! We've got a crime wave to investigate!"

Launchpad seemed to come to, out of his daze. "Oh... uh, you mean like right now?"

Drake eyed him. "No, we can wait until the weekend's over if you think it would interfere with your plans. Of course right now!"

"You might wanna change into something less comfortable first, Dad," Gosalyn pointed out dryly.

Drake paused and noticed his bathrobe, which Beth was apparently trying _not_ to notice. "Okay, right. Make that five minutes from right now. BUT you can still go get the ThunderQuack ready!"

"Sure thing, DW!" said Launchpad, getting to his feet. He turned back to Beth, who stood as well. "Guess I'll have to help you with that couch another day."

"Oh, that's fine, don't worry about that," she said, and then her expression changed. Radiating uncertainty, she stepped closer to him, took his arm, and said in a low voice, "Well, um... hurry back."

Launchpad blinked, and didn't seem to notice that Drake and Gosalyn's eyes looked about to fall out of their heads. "Uh, I'll do my best," he said, scratching his head. "I guess you really want that couch taken care of today, huh?"

Beth, blushing, didn't meet his eyes. "It's not really that important..." she mumbled. Launchpad gave her a final wave, then settled onto one of the chairs and departed for the Tower.

Gosalyn didn't miss the look Drake gave her as he went upstairs to change - it was unmistakably a "See? It all worked out" expression. Knowing she couldn't count on him to actually bother to be sure of that, Gosalyn waited until he was out of earshot and then aimed a comment at Beth.

"So, switching to Launchpad, huh?"

Beth, who was not only still blushing but was also looking quite unhappy, jumped at the words. "What? No! Nothing like that!"

"So what was that, then?"

"What was what?" Beth was a terrible liar, and it was amazing how three simple words could sound so insincere.

"That whole bit before he left." Gosalyn batted her eyelashes rapidly, and said in a singsong voice, "Hurry baa-aack!"

Beth put her hand to her head and muttered, "Oh lord, what have I done?" She sighed, and clearly tried to ignore Gosalyn. "I really don't - I mean, that wasn't anything. I don't know what you mean. Are you going to stay here and watch TV all day?"

Gosalyn allowed the change of subject for the brief moment it would take her to answer it. "Nope. I got soccer practice in a bit." Beth nodded, apparently satisfied that the conversation was over with. Not to Gosalyn, it wasn't; she hadn't actually received a firm answer beyond Beth's general denial of anything going on. By this point, stuff like that might be ingrained. She gave it one last shot. "So you're not gonna start chasing Launchpad?"

"_No_, I'm not!" said Beth, unexpectedly sharp. "It's not like that, it was just a - I just want him to move my couch, that's all!"

Gosalyn shrugged. "Well, maybe you _should_ switch."

"Why?" The response was so quick that it took Gosalyn by surprise, and she nearly missed the minor note of alarm that it held. "Why, do you know something?"

"Well..." She was stopped by a knock on the door. "Oh, that'll be Honker! I gotta go to practice."

"But - Gosalyn!" Gosalyn stopped on her way to answer the door, and turned back. "Is there, I mean, is there anything _I_ should know?"

Drake - now in full Darkwing costume - came dashing down the stairs before she could answer. "Don't open the door yet! I'm just passing through!" he announced. Hurriedly, he waved at Gosalyn. Beth waved back at him, but he failed to notice her. "Stay out of trouble have a good practice see you tonight love you sweetie!" The chairs whirled and he was gone.

"I really gotta go, Beth," Gosalyn said, somewhat apologetically; Beth seemed kind of wound up all of a sudden. And after all, it wasn't really her place to spill about Launchpad's feelings - though every adult she knew seemed to have too many secrets. Gosalyn vowed not to get involved in anything like this when she was older; it was so complicated it was just plain stupid.

* * *

Darkwing sped the Ratcatcher towards the jewelry store that had been most recently robbed, his mind diving into the case. No doubt police were stumped; that was to be expected on a case like this. This was great! Probably front-page material once he cracked it.

"I still can't believe we hadn't picked up on this before now, LP!" Darkwing said over the rush of the wind as they picked their way through traffic. "Sure, we'd been working on cracking the Dr. Slug case, but I didn't think I was _that_ out of the loop!"

"News today said the robberies were kept on the down-low on purpose, DW," Launchpad shot back. "Somethin' about how they might've just been sprinkler leaks."

"Sprinkler leaks washing away money and jewels? Ha! The police in this city need to wake up and answer the clue phone." Darkwing felt extremely confident regarding this case; it was right up his alley. "Okay, here's the plan. We get there, you ask the shop owner a few basic questions while I file away the answers and check out the clues around the store."

"Basic questions?"

"Yeah, you know the sort. What time, how the place looked before they closed up last night, anything like this happen before, any suspicious-looking characters hanging about lately? That kind of thing. Just keep him talking."

Launchpad nodded. "An' you'll be checkin' for clues?"

"Anything the police will have missed, which will probably be plenty. I'm telling you, LP, this is going to be _big_!"

"Sounds great!" Launchpad paused for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "One question, DW."

Darkwing pulled the motorcycle to a halt outside the shop, and put it in park. "Shoot."

"Do you think Beth mighta been flirting with me back before we left?"

Darkwing blinked, then frowned. "Stay in the now, will ya?" He gestured for his sidekick to follow him past the police tape into the store.

The store was a wreck. Glass cases were shattered, the carpeting was soggy, and the walls were buckling. Whoever had flooded this place had really _flooded_ it. Launchpad whistled as they looked around; the damage was extensive. It must've been a whole team of crooks to do something like this in one night.

Darkwing was already scouring the store, and despite his previous instructions, he was not leaving the questioning up to Launchpad. Instead, he was shooting them back at the store owner as he investigated, sometimes interrupting an answer to one question with a new one. That was okay by Launchpad, because DW was coming up with a lot more good questions than he could have.

"What about mail? Did you get any threatening letters in the past few weeks?"

"No, nothing!" said the store owner, sounding a little thrown off. "I mean - the usual offers for magazine subscriptions, but nothing out of the ordinary."

"You get threatening letters offering magazine subscriptions?" asked Launchpad, and received a baffled look from the store owner in return.

Darkwing had dusted the glass cases for finger prints, and found none. He'd examined the store safe up close, under magnifying glass, until he'd pinpointed how it was cracked. He'd stood on a chair to see how high the watermarks on the walls went. Right now he was dangling from a light fixture, peering at a ventilation grate.

"One more question, sir," he said grandly, letting go of the light fixture and dropping neatly to the floor. "You say you don't recall having seen any suspicious persons hanging around your store. What about water? Have you seen any puddles in places where there should be none?"

"You know..." There was an awed tone to the store owner's voice. "I actually do remember that the day before yesterday I noticed a leak in the back room... A corner near the vents was wet, and I thought I'd have to call in a repairman. But yesterday when I showed up to open the store, the vent was fine, so I forgot about it."

"Then the case is solved!" Darkwing stabbed dramatically at the air, and the store owner jumped slightly. "You left the store yesterday at approximately 10:07 pm. The thief waited a while, perhaps an hour, and then entered the store. _How_, you ask?" The store owner jumped again, as Darkwing leaned towards him abruptly. Without waiting for an answer, DW whirled around and stalked to the store's entrance. "After all, the door was locked, and remained in the same state this very morning when you discovered the robbery. Am I right?"

"Uh - yes," said the store owner. "As I told you, it was still-"

Darkwing wasn't actually listening. "And with no clear sign of forced entry. _How_ could the thief have entered and exited your store?" He leapt from the door to the vent he had been examining, near the ceiling. "The answer: through here!"

"But -"

"But, you say, the thief would have had to be tiny to enter through this grate. Correct?" Again without waiting for an answer, Darkwing proclaimed, "_Not_ so!" The store owner jumped again, and looked helplessly at Launchpad. Launchpad shrugged and smiled.

Darkwing continued, now circling the store as if reenacting the crime. "Upon entering the property, the thief used water to flood and destroy the glass cases surrounding your wares, and then helped himself." He stood by each shattered case in turn, then followed what seemed to be a marked trail in the carpet around the room and finally back to the vent. "Having his fill of purloined profusion, he took his leave the way he came, leaving only this destruction in his wake - no fingerprints, footprints, or even a stray hair."

"But how-"

"Fortunately for us," said Darkwing, now exuding a smug confidence, "the very watery destruction our foe has left here is the only clue we need to deduce his identity."

"It is?"

"It is," said Darkwing, and smiled calmly. "How could one thief depart with dozens of your wares? How could he create this level of damage? How could he use such a small space as both entry and exit? And most importantly, how could he so easily manipulate water to perpetuate this crime? The answer... is simple."

Here Darkwing fell silent, enjoying the tension in the air. Launchpad could see him listening, and when the store owner opened his mouth to ask something, Darkwing whirled about and pointed dramatically into the air. "Only _one_ fiend could accomplish this laundry list of larceny: that licentious louse, the Liquidator!"

Launchpad and the store owner burst into mutual applause. Darkwing nodded, examining his knuckles.

"Wow," said the store owner a moment later. "Are you sure?"

"Quite," said Darkwing.

"So you're gonna go arrest him?"

"Well-" Darkwing faltered, looking momentarily uncertain. "Uh, actually, I don't actually have any solid proof yet so I... I have to sort of, you know, catch him in the act. But that'll be a snap!"

"Oh." The store owner looked around, at the police tape and water stains and shards of glass. "Do you think he'll come back here? I mean, don't criminals always return to the scene of the crime?"

Darkwing said, "Well, I don't know what he'd come back here for... after all, he's cleaned you out pretty good." He didn't seem to be paying close attention anymore.

The store owner sighed. "Yeah..."

Launchpad felt sorry for him. "Well, he might come back! I mean, cliches are cliches for a reason, right?" he said, aware that this was a pretty lame way to comfort the guy, but it was the only thing he could think of.

It seemed to work a little; the store owner brightened slightly. "I guess I should invest in one of those Tuo Alarm Systems, huh?"

"The what?" Darkwing turned his attention outward again.

"The Horace Tuo Alarm System, the only waterproof-"

"That guy?" Darkwing's brow furrowed. "Why would someone make a waterproof alarm system, anyway? Who's gonna need one - I mean, other than you?" he said, gesturing at the hapless store owner. "C'mon LP, we've got a crook to collar."


	4. Act I, Chapter 4

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act I, chapter 4**

With a pleased air, Darkwing showed Launchpad the device that would make finding - and catching - the Liquidator a snap.

Launchpad stared at the piece, a small combination of metal and plastic that looked rather like a pen with a little mini-TV screen where the cap should be. "I'm guessin' it's not for calligraphy," he said.

"Nope!" said Darkwing smugly. "I call it the Humidetector! I had S.H.U.S.H.'s labs whip up this prototype for me a few months ago, and now I finally have the chance to use it! I just enter a little bit of information, and it hones in on any water in the vicinity!"

"_Any_ water?" Launchpad asked, because it seemed to be the thing to ask.

Darkwing nodded. "Whatever most closely fits the specifications I enter in here," he said, pointing at the small buttons on the mini-screen. He poked at it a few times, and the screen made a few satisfying "beep" noises. "I've told it to look for the largest mass of water in St. Canard. Now the radar will act as a tracking device and take us right to our old pal Licky!"

Sure enough, the little piece of equipment started letting out a smooth, deep "ping" sound a few moments later as the screen lit up in green neon. "Look at that!" said Darkwing excitedly. "He's right underneath us!!" He grabbed his helmet and jumped onto the Ratcatcher. Launchpad followed suit.

The pings increased in intensity and frequency the further down the Bay Bridge they rode, and Darkwing grinned and revved the motor; but when they reached the ground level, the pings were incessant and deafening, and Darkwing stared at the screen on the Humidetector in open disgust. "The Bay," he said shortly.

Launchpad, who had been staring out at the waters of the Bay and thinking about Beth in her swimsuit earlier that summer, answered distractedly. "Sure is."

Darkwing glared at him, then back at the device. "No, I mean, this stupid thing doesn't work right."

"Huh?"

He gestured at the huge body of water that surrounded them, and Launchpad noticed that the entire screen of the Humidetector was glowing and flashing and pinging. Darkwing scowled. "The Audubon Bay! It's picking up the _Bay_!"

"Oh," said Launchpad. That wasn't good. Although they probably should've thought of that, since it was the largest local body of water and all. "So - what now?"

Darkwing sighed. "Now we patrol, I guess. We'll do a few rounds on the Ratcatcher and if nothing shows up we can take the ThunderQuack out."

"Sounds good!" Launchpad waited until Darkwing had started the Ratcatcher up again, then spoke as they sped off down the bridge towards the city proper. "Say, DW - about Beth..."

The answer came in body language before it was ever spoken aloud; Darkwing's shoulders came up and his posture became more tense. "Yes?" he said, speaking through his teeth.

Launchpad decided this was not the time. "Uh, I'll ask ya later."

* * *

From the passenger seat in the ThunderQuack, Darkwing lowered his binoculars and growled quietly to himself. "I _know_ he's out there! This very _moment_, he's no doubt devising a devious act of deviltry! But we've circled the business district twelve times and there's no sign of him!"

"Did the Humidihopper come with an instruction manual?" asked Launchpad. He swung the TQ around for another pass over the city, since DW hadn't given any indication of giving up.

"Humidetector," said Darkwing shortly. "And no. It was custom-made for me. It's not the kind of thing to have a mass-marketed instruction book." He pulled it out of his pocket and poked at it, relaxing slightly. "Stupid piece of junk."

"Maybe if ya narrowed it down a little more when ya told it what to look for," Launchpad suggested.

Darkwing snorted. "Nah, it's - hold the phone..." He leaned forward in his seat again, bringing the binoculars up to his face once more. "Where - was it... _There_. LP, bring us down a bit and hang to the left."

Launchpad lowered the plane as instructed, and Darkwing leaned forward so far that he seemed to be about to stand up. "Ha. HA!" He tossed the binoculars aside and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Let me down. Land the ThunderQuack somewhere and catch up with me."

"Is he down there?" Launchpad peered down, but all he saw were dark houses.

"He's there. Either that or someone overfilled their waterbed by about 200 gallons." Darkwing secured his hat as Launchpad brought the TQ down low enough to drop him off.

* * *

He'd been beginning to worry that the patrolling wouldn't pay off, but Darkwing's tightly focused attention had lived up to its potential. And, he had to admit, they'd been in the right place at the right time: if Launchpad had been flying over the other half of the city they might not have noticed it in time - instead of a robbery in the business district, as expected, the Liquidator had moved on to residences.

The house had water gushing from all the windows on the lower story, and a family was in the process of climbing onto the roof from one of the second-story windows. Darkwing got closer and took note of the torrents of water; a TV, VCR, and safe went floating by, swept along in the rapids, and made a quick course towards a nearby open manhole.

He grabbed a computer monitor before it got away, and set it aside to dry - of all the stupid things to steal, it was probably useless after being caught in a flood - then looked between the house and the manhole. Narrowing his eyes, he drew his gas gun and made for the house.

As he neared, the water slowed to a trickle, and the door swung wide. A final surge of water slid towards him, dragging a gold-inlaid box, and when he stepped between it and the manhole the water swerved to avoid him. It slunk into the sewers as smoothly as a stick floating downstream, and a rather hefty fist-shaped wave slid the manhole cover back into place.

"DW!" Launchpad arrived in the nick of time, just as Darkwing was taking the first steps towards the manhole. "What's goin' on?"

"We're taking it underground," said Darkwing. He hunted around in the soggy front yard of the just-robbed house, and came up with a large stick. Darting back to the manhole cover, he began trying to use the stick as a lever to pry the cover back.

"HEY!" The family on the roof was yelling, waving their arms for attention.

Darkwing gave a vague sign of notice. "Little busy here," he called back.

The father of the family was not deterred. "Can we get a hand or something?"

"The best thing you can do," said Darkwing tensely, "is let me do my job and I'll get all your belongings back to you!" This was very likely not true, but it sounded placating, and that was his main goal at the moment as regarded anyone other than the Liquidator.

"Letting you do your job isn't going to get us down off the roof any more quickly, is it?" yelled the father.

His wife stepped forward, putting a quieting hand on his shoulder. "We have a ladder in the shed out back - maybe you could..."

Darkwing sighed. "LP - go check the shed, see if you can find these folks a ladder." Under his breath, he added, "And if you see a crowbar anywhere..."

"Gotcha, DW!" said Launchpad, and saluted before taking off around the side of the house. Darkwing resumed prying at the manhole cover, increasingly aware that the wet wood was not going to cut it. Fortunately, when Launchpad returned a moment later he was equipped not only with a ladder but the hoped-for crowbar as well. He propped the ladder against the roof and took a few necessary moments to align it properly.

"Launchpad! We're low on time!" Darkwing snapped, and Launchpad gave the ladder one more little jiggle, waved at the family, and hustled over with the crowbar. Their combined efforts got the cover off within a minute or so, and after Darkwing dropped down into the sewer, Launchpad followed suit.

It was dark - not surprisingly - and Darkwing swept a flashlight along the walls of the sewer tunnel. At first it seemed that the Liquidator had gone without leaving any trace, but then the beam of light passed over something novel.

"Wait! What was..." Darkwing shot the light back a bit and found the object. It was a discarded television set, the frame mostly broken. The screen was hopelessly cracked, as well.

"Well, the reception down here woulda been pretty lousy anyway," said Launchpad lightly.

Darkwing gave a quick snort of laughter, then stepped forward, beckoning his sidekick to follow. "This way, from the look of things." He played the beam ahead again, and added, "Either the load was too heavy for one water monster to carry, or else Licky left us a trail of proverbial bread crumbs."

Every so often another stolen item was discarded - generally in a state of disrepair - as they went. Sodden, puffy books lay in a corner; a battered toaster was floating upside down in the water they trudged through. "Why would he have even bothered to steal these things?" wondered Darkwing aloud. "He must have known electronics weren't going to survive the trip home."

"Wishful thinking?" suggested Launchpad. "Or maybe he was just goin' for the effect."

"What effect is that?" The water was incredibly grimy, although Darkwing didn't plan on saying anything about it unless Launchpad did first. No vigilante wanted to come off as a whiner.

"Y'know," said Launchpad, showing no signs of caring what the state of the sewer water was. "The effect of takin' a bunch of stuff and runnin'."

"You mean, maybe he just wants to strike fear into the public's hearts?" Darkwing considered this. "I'd buy that. But I wonder why he's being so quiet about it. It's more his style to showboat everything, not -"

A voice cut him off, ringing in the dark tunnel. "Darkwing Duck! Come on down!" With this theatrical statement, the tunnel suddenly burst into light from unseen sources; the Liquidator stood before them, his arms spread. "You're about to lose your life!"

Darkwing whipped out his gas gun. "Well, well, what a surprise. Licky, you've made your last house call!"

The Liquidator put a hand to his face, looking melodramatically hurt. "In today's fast-paced, workaday world, it's hard to prove your innocence to anyone, let alone pig-headed vigilantes! But the Liquidator is all-new, all-different; the mistakes of the past are long since done!" He held up his hand, as if offering a truce. "I'm just an honest businessman now, trying to make a living."

With a snort of laughter, Darkwing kept the gas gun trained on his enemy. "Riiiight. So you've been redecorating the sewers as a new hobby?"

"No one can control what people decide to just - toss out!" With a smirk, he added, "And after that, finders keepers."

Darkwing's eyes narrowed. "I've heard enough. Suck gas, evildoer." His finger tightened on the trigger of the gas gun, and the perfectly-aimed cartridge flew from the gun barrel straight towards the Liquidator. The gas cartridge's target didn't move a drop, even when the cartridge itself splashed right through him, hit the wall at his back, and exploded in a vast purple cloud.

"Rats!" hissed Darkwing, and quickly covered his mouth. He gestured to Launchpad to do the same, but neither could keep from coughing.

The Liquidator's laughter drowned out the coughs. "And they wonder why familiarity breeds contempt! Our competitor seems to have forgotten that The Liquidator never suffers from gas pains!"

It had been so long since Darkwing had faced the Liquidator on his own that he had, in fact, forgotten this. He tried to play it off. Through his coughs, he managed, "Don't gloat yet, Licky. Y-you-" He paused to hack up a lung - "'Scuse me. You're still all washed up!"

Next to him, Launchpad issued a choked, "Yeah!" Well, the moral support was nice, anyway.

The comment was met with more laughter, however. "Have it your way!" The Liquidator held up his arms, and the water surrounding them came to life. Darkwing found himself being lifted off the sewer floor. "To get rid of even the most stubborn superheroes," came the Liquidator's voice, "use TIDE!"

With that, the water surged him towards a nearby manhole cover. From the corner of his eye, Darkwing could see Launchpad following the same trajectory. Looking ahead again, it didn't appear that Darkwing was going to be granted the courtesy of having the manhole cover removed before he was forcefully ejected from the sewer; he braced himself. This was going to hurt.

* * *

It was nearly 2 am when Darkwing and Launchpad returned - dripping and sore - to the house. Launchpad went straight up to bed, but Darkwing was too annoyed by the disastrous run-in to unwind. Not only had the Liquidator gotten away, but Darkwing and Launchpad had been kicked around and humiliated for far longer than was really necessary. And Darkwing still had no leads on how to find Licky again to settle the score. He settled down to wringing the water out of his costume, and after pulling a bucket out from underneath the sink he returned to the living room and switched on the TV for some background noise.

The "Late, Late, Way-Too-Late Movie" was on - "A Very Sad Romance". This was that gooshy one about never having to say you're sorry, he realized; well, it was better than nothing, and he didn't plan on paying that much attention to it anyway.

Twenty minutes later his still-damp costume was forgotten, as Drake sat perched on the edge of the couch, his bill in his hand, refusing to admit to the lump in his throat. The female protagonist - the pretty, dark-haired actress he now remembered he'd had something of a crush on about fifteen years ago - she didn't really _die_ at the end of this, did she?!

"How can I make you stay?" asked the male lead (Drake didn't like him. Too chinny), holding the beautiful girl's hand. She smiled painfully.

"Just... don't forget me," she said in a whisper. Drake unconsciously gripped the couch cushion.

When the movie cut unexpectedly to a commercial, he jumped, realizing how caught up in the movie he'd been. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, feeling himself starting to blush. "I need to get to bed."

He fumbled for the remote, which had somehow wedged itself between cushions, and was just about to hit the power button when the second commercial started. Something kept his thumb from completing the motion.

"Are you going to let sordid criminals clean you out?" asked a voice, sounding far too animated for quarter past two a.m. On the screen, two robbers wearing snorkel masks paddled a canoe filled with money, jewelry, and a widescreen TV. "What a wash-out!" chortled the announcer.

Drake frowned at the ad, and turned the volume up slightly. The announcer continued: "Don't be caught treading water: protect _your_ homes and places of business with the HORACE TUO ALARM SYSTEM!" The scene changed to a close-up of a small burglar alarm. This shot was much cleaner and clearer than the one he'd seen earlier that very morning.

And, he realized, it was a different ad in another way as well: this ad emphasized use of the Alarm System for home protection - but up until tonight, the Liquidator hadn't broken into any homes.

Drake sat up straighter and leaned towards the television, but the screen changed and another commercial started. "That robbery only happened a few hours ago!" he said quietly, still staring at the TV screen as it extolled the virtues of a floor cleanser that was also a delicious dessert topping. "How could this Tuo guy have gotten a new ad out that quickly?"

It was possible, he supposed, that Tuo had planned this ad previously, not knowing (or not caring) that Licky wasn't robbing homes at the time... but it didn't feel likely.

He waited up for another half hour, saw the new Tuo ad two more times, and finally went to bed after vowing to pick up one of the alarms the next day after grabbing at least a few hours of sleep.


	5. Act II, Chapter 1

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act II, chapter 1**

Launchpad found it a bit hard to sleep that night, since Beth's mild overture towards him stayed on his mind. It wasn't really like her - not that she wasn't nearly always friendly, not that she'd never shown any interest in spending time with him before. And it wasn't even that they didn't normally have a physicality to their friendship - he was well within the happy habit of putting an arm around her shoulders when they were in close enough situations, and she'd leaned against him on more than one occasion. But this had been different - maybe he'd imagined it, but there seemed to be a certain tone to the words she'd used, something suggestive and hinting.

His history with Beth was complicated, to say the least. There was more than just the situation with DW; Beth had a veil of obliviousness so thick that Launchpad wondered at times if it was an intentional one. Not that he thought she was faking it, or just pretending not to see what was obvious, but just - well, it was tricky, and he wasn't sure what made him feel this way. But somehow he got the impression Beth didn't see certain things because she didn't _want_ to see them, and that had done a good job of keeping his mouth shut when it came to his feelings for her. If she didn't see them, maybe it was because she didn't want to.

The trouble was that he couldn't tell how much of that was her, and how much of it had to do with DW. Beth had a serious case of tunnel vision when it came to her crush on Darkwing, and although it was sort of comically cute, it was frustrating as heck sometimes. It kept him from ever being sure where he stood with her. He'd nearly given up at first, after watching her obsess over his best friend; but then DW had made it pretty clear that it was all on one side, so there was nothing to worry about there. And then Beth had started spending time with him, and Launchpad felt like they were really developing a connection, and all of a sudden he just _knew_ they were right together. He was sure of it.

Except that, every time he'd tried to tell her or show her she went into this haze of confusion, or changed the subject to DW, or something. It was _weird_, and it had taken his confidence down just enough to keep him from broaching the subject again. Maybe it wasn't just that she was hung up on DW... Maybe that was an excuse because she liked him, but not THAT way.

But then again - when he'd kissed her, she'd kissed him back.

That was a moment he'd gone over again and again - not unwillingly - and he was certain of it. He hadn't meant to do it, exactly, but that perfume/love potion/whatever it was was filling his head, and she was smiling up at him, and suddenly all the excuses not to seemed like just that: excuses. That voice, the impossible-to-ignore voice that usually spoke up at those moments telling him he'd drive her away if he did anything too forward, was silent.

So he'd kissed her, finally. He'd kissed her and not only had she not pushed him away, not only had she accepted it, she'd _returned_ it. Sure, things had been kind of weird between them since then, but he was pretty sure that would blow over; Beth got awkward every so often, and half the time Launchpad wasn't entirely sure why. So it was worth the awkwardness.

He wondered if he'd ever have the chance to do it again.

The thought stayed with him until the next morning, and into the afternoon. If she _was_ flirting with him, maybe now was the time to make his move. Heck, maybe it was time whether she had meant it that way or not; things couldn't go on like this forever, no matter how long he was willing to wait for her to notice him. At some point, someone was going to have to make the first move, and he had a feeling it wouldn't be Beth.

Maybe, he decided finally, it would be best to ask for advice on this one. The subject was a little awkward, and he wasn't exactly sure how to broach it, but he knew Gos and DW would give him a straight answer. In the kitchen, warming up a mid-day snack, he resolved to just go ahead and get it out there.

He opened the door to the microwave and sniffed the air happily. "Man, nothin' like a big plate of nachos on a Sunday afternoon!" he said to no one in particular as he re-entered the living room.

Gosalyn plunked herself onto the couch. "Are you gonna share this time?"

"Are YOU?" Drake, looking up from the Tuo Alarm Systems box, asked her with a raised eyebrow.

"Dad, that was _one time_," she began.

Launchpad, warily poking at the plate of nachos to be certain it wasn't too hot, grinned. "I think I got enough for two, Gos," he said.

"Great! Guess Dad's outta luck, then."

Drake made a dismissive noise and returned his attention to the alarm and its disposable container. "If I wanted nachos, I'd make my own," he said. There was a touch of petulance to his tone.

Well, now was as good a time as any, Launchpad figured. "Uh... hey, guys? I kinda... got a question."

"If it's about that plastic fruit that got eaten," Drake spoke up, "I already know that was you."

Gosalyn glared at him. "He said a _question_, Dad, not a confession!" She turned to Launchpad and said, more quietly, "Did you really?"

Launchpad turned a little pink. "It didn't LOOK plastic... Uh, maybe I oughta ask this another time."

"No, don't let Dad get to you!" Gosalyn had a way of getting people to feel comfortable enough to open up - when she was in the mood to listen to them, in any case. It worked exceedingly well for Honker, who rarely got a sympathetic ear from anyone else. "Go ahead!"

"Well..." Launchpad looked from Gosalyn to Drake, still blushing a little. Uncomfortably, he began, "You guys know, uh... about Beth and... that stuff, right?"

Drake and Gosalyn looked at each other, then turned back to Launchpad, both smiling a little wider than was necessary. Drake said, "If 'that stuff' means the same thing for all of us, then yep, I think we're all WELL familiar with that."

"Yeah, well... I was wonderin', y'know, do you guys think maybe I oughta - well, say somethin' to her?"

"YES!" It was nearly impossible to tell who had spoken first, Gosalyn or Drake.

Launchpad looked surprised. "Wow, really?"

"Yes," they repeated, slightly out of sync this time. Gosalyn continued, "Why the heck not?"

"It's been, what, three years now that you've had a crush on her?" added Drake.

Feeling uncomfortably warm, Launchpad corrected him. "Only one. Or a little more, I guess. We only met last summer."

"Really?" Drake sounded perplexed. "Feels like longer. Huh. Oh well - anyway, Launchpad, trust us. Carpe diem!" He paused, noticing that Launchpad was frowning in confusion. "It means 'seize the day'."

"Oh." Launchpad rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, but... Well, I mean, she's kinda - hung up on you, DW."

Gosalyn shot her father a look. "I keep telling you that's important, Dad."

"It is NOT." Drake snorted. "Look, LP, as soon as you tell Beth you like her, she'll forget all about me." He stopped, and grinned a little. "Wellll... maaaybe not right away. Heh."

"Chicken," said Gosalyn lightly. Drake looked like he was about to start an entirely different discussion, so Launchpad jumped in.

"I dunno, guys. I mean, I've tried to talk to her about it before and she doesn't seem interested."

"So what if she isn't interested?" asked Gosalyn loudly. "I think you guys are all making this waaaaay too complicated. You like her, and she likes Dad, and Dad likes someone else - but nobody _talks_ about it." She grabbed her pigtails and pulled on them, an expression of exaggerated frustration on her face. "It's driving me CRAZY!"

"But if she isn't interested -"

"How will you ever know if you don't _tell_ her?" Drake interrupted him, and Gosalyn kept tugging her hair.

"Because-" Launchpad paused. They were kind of right, but... "It's just - we're really good friends, an'... I don't want to mess that up, y'know? She can be kinda - touchy." Touchy wasn't quite the right word for it, but it was the best he could come up with at that moment.

"CRAZY, I tell you," Gosalyn said again, looking amused with herself. She saw him grinning a little, and stuck her tongue out to add to the effect.

"Look, LP - you asked, we answered. What answer did you _want_?" asked Drake. He picked the Tuo Alarm up again and returned his concentration to it.

Launchpad shrugged; even he wasn't sure. "I gotta think this over, I guess," he said. He checked the nacho plate and found it nearly empty.

Gosalyn looked sheepish. "Gee, heh, someone must've taken them while we were distracted."

"Well," said Launchpad, standing up, "guess I'll get more, then." He disappeared into the kitchen.

Drake was just trying to figure out how to best take the Tuo Alarm apart when the front door opened a crack. He turned and saw Beth's head poking around the door. "Now that's a new one," he said.

She looked uncertain. "Is - is Launchpad here?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah, he's in the kitchen," said Gosalyn. "I'll go get him!"

"No, wait!" Beth stepped inside and waved her hands to get Gosalyn's full attention before the girl left the room. "I - I have to ask you guys something and I need him to be out of the room."

"Seems to be the day for it," said Drake, mostly to himself, and put the alarm down again. Gosalyn reseated herself on the couch.

Beth clasped and unclasped her hands, working her nerves up. "Well - this will probably sound weird - maybe out-and-out crazy..."

"Did you eat the plastic fruit too?" asked Gosalyn.

"What? No," answered Beth, momentarily knocked off course. "No, it's - it's about Launchpad."

"So was that." Gosalyn smiled when Beth frowned. "Okay, okay, go on."

Beth blew a breath of air out forcefully, and replaced it with another deep breath. "Okay, well, I... I don't want to sound conceited or anything, but..." Her eyes shot to the kitchen door, then back to Gosalyn and Drake. "Do you guys think - maybe, I mean - that Launchpad might, um, kind of have just the eensiest... interest? In me?" Gosalyn and Drake looked at each other silently, and Beth cleared her throat and added, "Romantically?"

Gosalyn said, "Heck yeah he does, he's nuts about you."

"Gosalyn!" hissed Drake, leaping to his feet. Behind him, Beth made a little strangled noise, and he took his daughter by the arm and led her to the far side of the room. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked in a noisy whisper.

Echoing his volume, she answered, "Getting it out in the open. C'mon, Dad, he's gonna tell her anyway."

"Maybe, or maybe not! And it's Launchpad's option, NOT yours!"

"_Or_, maybe I saved him a little anxiety! Now when he tells her, it won't be such a major deal!" Gosalyn stuck to her guns, crossing her arms in front of her.

"That's not generally the way it works!" he hissed, and looked back over his shoulder towards the front door. It was open, and Beth was gone. "Oh, great. Now she's wandering around stressing over this."

Gosalyn snorted. "How do you know she didn't go home to write it up in her diary? I thought you said all he had to do was tell her, and she'd forget all about you."

"Yeah, well-" Drake paused, and sputtered a bit. "I was just saying that to make him feel better! Did you see her face when you spouted off?" Drake had seen it, and it hadn't been good.

Before Gosalyn could answer, Launchpad leaned out through the doors from the kitchen. "Okay, guys, my mind's made up! I'm gonna tell her today!"

Drake clamped Gosalyn's bill shut, whispering, "Not a word!" To Launchpad, he said, "Whoa, whoa whoa. Have you really thought this through, LP?"

"Huh?" Launchpad looked confused. "I thought you said I should do it."

"Nooooo no no. I said you should _think_ about it. Take a week at least." The best thing to do, he'd decided after seeing the shock on Beth's face, was to get Launchpad to keep his mouth shut for a while until he could defuse the situation. "In fact, why not wait for her to come to you? You don't want to risk ruining your friendship or anything."

Launchpad looked thoroughly dumbfounded. "Uh... okay... I thought -"

"Hey, isn't that the microwave beeping in there?" Too many questions, and Drake needed a moment to come up with some answers. He gave Launchpad a directional push back into the kitchen, and breathed out heavily.

Gosalyn gave him a look, keeping her bill firmly closed.

"This is your fault," he said, pointing at her. Her look in response now said "Moi?", but before he could go on, a voice behind him said, "Um..."

There was, somehow, a very distinct way in which Beth said "Um" and Drake knew it instantly when he heard it. He spun back around to face her, and she was indeed standing nervously in the doorway where he'd last seen her. "Oh, Beth, we thought you'd gone!" he said hurriedly.

She stood, wringing the hem of her shirt between her hands, and cleared her throat. "Yeah, sorry, I kind of - had a moment. Um, I just wanted to ask if Launchpad had actually _told_ you or if-"

"Told us what?"

She blinked. "You know - Gosalyn said-"

"Ohhhhh, _that_ little thing." He chuckled, and hurried to Beth's side. Launchpad would be coming back out of the kitchen any moment now, and he had a feeling it was best to keep them apart for now. "Don't mind Gos. She's just a kid, what does she know?"

"Hey!" said Gosalyn, sounding offended.

"Really?" Beth looked unconvinced, but hopeful. "I mean, she sounded pretty -"

Drake scoffed. "Pffft. You're really going to take a ten-year-old's perspective on love as the gospel truth?" Beth smiled sheepishly at this, so he went on. "Besides, who's going to know more about this kind of thing than me? I'm not just his best friend, I'm also a master detective. I _notice_ these things."

"That's true, I guess..." Beth failed to pick up the fact that Drake was steadily walking her towards the door, perhaps because his hand was on her back and she seemed to be pleased with the physical contact. "I know that it's silly to think that just because someone is NICE to me, it means that they have feelings for me, but -"

"Yep, silly," agreed Drake, ushering her out the door. "Hey, I really hope you can come by again sometime soon!"

"What?" asked Beth, just before Drake shut the door. He had time to breathe a quick sigh of relief, and then turned to see Launchpad looking at him inquiringly.

"Was someone at the door?"

Relieved that his sidekick hadn't actually seen who was there, Drake shook his head quickly. "Girl scout. It's cookie season. Nothing to worry about."

"Ooh, did you order any of the minty ones? I love those."

"Guess I forgot," said Drake quickly.

Launchpad looked moderately disappointed as he sat down on the couch; the expression was perpetuated by the outcome of his discussion with Drake about Beth. "So, you guys don't think I should tell her?"

Gosalyn, clearly grouchy, snorted. "Hey, I'm just a kid, what do _I_ know?" Launchpad looked surprised.

"Not just yet," Drake assured him. "Think about it. Is Beth really the woman you want to be with, anyway? I mean, after all this time, she hasn't even picked up on the fact that you like her." Gosalyn snorted again, and Drake shot her a glare. "Maybe it's time to read the writing on the wall, LP." This felt a little cruel, but after Beth's reaction just now, Drake had a feeling it might be crueler to set Launchpad up only to be rejected. A little preparation never hurt anyone.

"Well," Launchpad said, hesitatantly; he picked up a bunch of nachos and held them for a moment. "I was kinda thinking, maybe if YOU told her how YOU felt, first..."

Drake flushed, and it deepened when Gosalyn sat forward and said, "See, Dad?"

He cleared his throat. "That's really not necessary," he said fussily. "I've made it as clear as I need to that I'm not interested. Beth's met Morgana more than once. She's even told me that she knows it won't happen between us."

Gosalyn made a frustrated noise. "How come all you guys ever do is talk about how you're not going to tell each other anything?!" she said, getting to her feet. "I gotta get out of here or I'm gonna suffocate in secrets!"

Launchpad said, "Well, it does seem like, if she knows already, you got nothing to lose by tellin' her." He shrugged, and stuffed the chips in his mouth. "I mean - tha's wha' I think," he added through a mouth full of cheese and chips.

"This conversation is getting ridiculous," said Drake, feeling tense. He picked up the Tuo Alarm System and its box, and headed for the chairs to the Tower. "I have work I need to get done."

"Should I meetcha later?" asked Launchpad.

Drake waved his hand. "Whatever. Just as long as I can get some peace and quiet to work on this case and NOT have to talk about Beth!" He punctuated this statement with a smack on the head of the Basil statue, and the chairs whirred to life.


	6. Act II, Chapter 2

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act II, chapter 2**

The Tuo alarm system operated on a very simple, basic principle: you set it up, you switched it on, and when the motion detector sensed any movement, the klaxon went off. The klaxon consisted of a very strident beeping that made Darkwing want to hit the whole alarm unit with a hammer. The home unit very thoughtfully came with the option of hooking into your phone line and automatically contacting the police when it went off. This, Darkwing felt, was a disaster waiting to happen, since the majority of the alarms were bound to be triggered by pets, family members, or the owners themselves. But he was certain it sold the stupid things. 

Overall, it was a very cheap product, and Darkwing held it in disdain. 

But he would say one thing for it: true to its advertisements, it was waterproof. He'd done everything from spilling water on it to dunking it into a bucket, and it still worked the same as it had before. So Tuo might have been an opportunist, but it looked like he was at least honest. 

Well - at least _slightly_ honest, anyway, Darkwing allowed. 

The frustrating part was that he couldn't find any further information on the guy. This was his first product - not just his first major product but, as far as Darkwing could find, the ONLY Tuo product anywhere on the market, _ever_. He had no criminal record, and no major accomplishments. It was disappointing, but Darkwing acknowledged that it was only the first level of investigation; as a detective there were many, many more things he could look at. They were just all... a little harder to dig into, that was all. 

He told himself that he enjoyed the challenge, and shoved the Horace Tuo Alarm System aside for the night. 

The whir of the chairs announced Launchpad's arrival. "You took your time," Darkwing shot irritably over his shoulder. 

Launchpad's reply held a touch of petulance. "Hey, sorry! You said you didn't need me right away!" He appeared at Darkwing's elbow, and picked up the alarm. "If you'd'a said-" 

"Whatever. We can make up for it," Darkwing cut him off, covering for the fact that he was regretting his words. He had given Launchpad an open schedule on coming to the Tower, and he'd hardly needed him so far anyway. He was just cranky, and felt like taking it out on the nearest target. "That thing isn't telling me anything." 

"Maybe there's nothin' to tell," said Launchpad, turning it over gingerly. "I mean, it looks like your regular alarm." 

"But then how does it tie into the Liquidator's crime spree?" 

Launchpad shrugged, and tapped the alarm's casing. "I dunno. Maybe it doesn't - maybe this Tuo guy just wants to help people." 

Darkwing snorted, and snatched the alarm back. "He's not helping them - he's taking advantage of them. Charging a fortune when he knows something behind the scenes of Licky's plot, and he's profiting from that knowledge!" 

"Didja get an address or anything?" 

"No." Darkwing felt cranky again. "Maybe, if I'd had a little _backup_, I could have found more." 

"Sorry," said Launchpad again. 

Darkwing stood up and shrugged. "Let's just go patrol. I need to find the Liquidator and award him some serious jail time." 

"Right-o! You wanna take the TQ out?" Launchpad was all cheeriness again, which brought back Darkwing's guilt. 

"Let's start with the Ratcatcher again... I think I've got the Humidetector figured out." 

They set up the motorcycle, and Darkwing poked at the buttons again. "Okay - I'm setting it up to find a _mobile_ mass of water. That's a pretty no-fail specification, huh?" He paused, and sighed. "And, hey - Sorry I was snapping at you just now." 

"Aw, no problemo. I figured you were just wound up from not bein' able to figure anything out." 

Darkwing was instantly irritated again. "I found _some_ things out!" he said defensively. "Like - like, I found out that those stupid Tuo Alarms aren't worth the plastic they're housed in!" 

"Ya mean they don't work?" 

"Well... no... they work... Let's just go!" snapped Darkwing, and finished entering the specs. The screen instantly lit with a beep on the radar, followed by another beep just a tiny distance away. "Ha! Got him right off the bat!" He stuck his helmet on his head decisively, and revved the motor of the Ratcatcher. "Let's get dangerous!"

* * *

Down on the Bay Bridge, rain fell harder and harder around the two figures on the cycle. The Humidetector beeped and flashed relentlessly, as Launchpad physically restrained Darkwing from chucking it into the dark waters of the Bay.

* * *

The wet streets shone in the light of the street lamps, but the sky had cleared and the night, although humid, was pleasantly freshened by the recent rainfall. 

There were no floods to speak of in the already-wet night, but crime itself did not sleep. Although Darkwing and Launchpad didn't find the Liquidator, they were not without diversions. 

"Freeze, felon, or feel the fury of Darkwing Duck!" cried Darkwing, flooring the gas pedal of the Ratcatcher and sending the vehicle careening up the sidewalk. The warning came to no avail, as the felon - your basic robber - was either too stupid or too scared to stop running. He cut across the courtyard of an office building, trying to evade the Ratcatcher. Darkwing took no notice of the lack of street, and simply followed the fleeing criminal anyway. Launchpad ducked as they crashed through the terrace, and kept going. 

The robber looked behind him and did a double take when he saw that the motorcycle was still coming. He sped up as much as he could - the crimefighter was right behind him now - and dashed for the entrance to an underground metro station. He made it down the steps just as Darkwing caught up to him. "Hang on, LP, this'll be a bumpy ride!" said Darkwing, and drove the Ratcatcher down the stairs. 

After a few moments and across the street, the robber came panting up the exit from the station, his face painted with disbelief. The Ratcatcher came right up after him. Darkwing maneuvered the motorcycle in front of the criminal, and came to a stop, effectively bringing the man to a halt. He jumped out and cuffed him immediately. "When I say 'freeze', I mean _freeze_, pal!" he said, glaring at him. 

"I didn't do anything!" claimed the robber, shaking his head. 

Darkwing rolled his eyes, and grabbed the bag that was hanging from the robber's shoulder. "Right. And this is costume jewelry for your drama club, right?" He reached into the bag and pulled out a small handful of gem-studded necklaces and earrings. 

"Maybe," the robber muttered. Darkwing pushed him towards the sidecar. 

Launchpad had stepped out of the vehicle, and stood beside the sidecar watching them. "That was a heck of a chase," he said. 

"Yeah, all in a night's blah blah blah," answered Darkwing. He still felt antsy over the lack of leads on the other case; it had been nice to have a quick diversionary chase, though. "Think you can squeeze in there with Bozo here on the way to the jailhouse?" 

After considering the width of the sidecar and the girth of the reasonably lean robber, Launchpad nodded. "Yeah, I think we'll both fit." 

"You better not kick me or nothin'," said the robber as he lowered himself to a sitting position in the car. Launchpad climbed in next to him; it was a somewhat tight fit, but the police station wasn't much more than a five minute ride. 

Launchpad rode much of the way in silence, which Darkwing apparently misinterpreted, as he spoke up after a minute or so. "Don't worry, LP, we'll catch up with the Liquidator soon enough. And when we do -!" 

"Oh, it's not that," Launchpad said reassuringly. "I was just thinkin' about -" 

"Beth," Darkwing finished with him, his tone turning sour. "Gee, that's a new one." 

Launchpad shrugged. "Yeah, well, I was thinkin' a lot. Like you said to do." 

"Uh-huh." 

"And, uh, y'know." Launchpad started to feel awkward, as the robber seemed to be subtly trying to lean closer to the conversation. "Uh... I thought, well, I should go for it." 

Darkwing seemed troubled by something, but he just sighed. "Follow your heart, LP," he said after a moment's pause. "I don't have any better advice that that." 

"Great!" Launchpad grinned, and looked over his shoulder as his elbow struck the robber sitting behind him. "Uh, sorry." 

"Don't mention it." The robber smiled ingratiatingly, but didn't back up any. 

Clearing his throat, Launchpad continued. "So - the one thing I really thought was important, though, was for you to-" 

"Aw come on!" said Darkwing, guessing how the sentence was going to end. "I don't want to be involved in this!" 

"But you _are_ involved in it, DW," said Launchpad firmly. "You're the only one she sees most of the time, and I think you guys need to have a talk about that." 

Darkwing was quiet for a moment, his eyes intently on the road. "So what, I should say 'It's not you, it's me'?" 

"Well, no, not if you don't think that," said Launchpad. "I mean, I dunno what you should say. Just that, I think she needs to know how you feel about _her_." Darkwing made a noise that was something like a snort and an exasperated sigh. "DW, she's in love with you!" Launchpad exclaimed finally. "It's not fair to just leave her thinkin' maybe, if she just catches you at the right time, you'll end up fallin' for her too!" 

"Yeah!" said the robber suddenly, and both Launchpad and Darkwing turned to look at him in surprise. "Just tell her, ya jerk! What are you doing, stringin' her along like that?" 

"Hey, you keep out of this!" snapped Darkwing. 

"Look, all I'm sayin' is if it were _me_..." 

"Fine!" said Darkwing loudly, and turned back to the road. "FINE, I'll talk to her, okay? So will everyone just get off my back?!" He came to a screeching halt in front of the police station. 

Recovering from the jolt, the robber said, "Man, this is gonna keep the other guys in the cell block entertained." 

Launchpad grabbed him by the collar and stood, pulling the robber to his feet as he went. "Y'know, I think you might wanna keep this to yourself," he said firmly. Eye-to-eye with the robber - whose feet weren't touching the ground - he added, "I mean, if it were _me_." 

"...Right," said the robber. He coughed nervously. "Can - can I go in and get booked now?"

* * *

The Liquidator switched off the camera and carefully removed the tape. Another pitch-perfect pitch. Ah, the robbing and the general crime sprees with the Fearsome Five were fun, but it did feel good to get back into the business! Once a salesman, always a salesman, it seemed. 

He deposited the tape in a small bin, and picked that up to transport it to the editing room. These things had to be done delicately, after all, when the slightest slip in concentration meant that you left a puddle on everything you touched. Now the decision: to work on the tape, or to hit the town? All work and no play, yadda yadda, as the saying went. 

He decided to at least take a look outside and see what was cooking. The tape could wait, and still get into the express mail the next day. Payment was certainly not a problem, after all he'd amassed recently. In fact, it occurred to him that he really should start expanding his staff - maybe get someone to do the editing for him - why not? 

Checking himself out in the mirror, he cocked a finger at his reflection and winked. "Because you're worth it," he said with a grin, and moved on. 

He really didn't, by this time, _need_ to knock over anymore domiciles. He was set in that regard, and could afford to retire from the petty criminal world; make a nice, honest living doing what he did best, convincing people that they needed something essentially worthless. 

But the robbing and general crime sprees really were just _so_ much fun. 


	7. Act II, Chapter 3

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act II, chapter 3**

Often, the babysitting situation in the Mallard household just worked itself out. Many nights, when Darkwing didn't have a case, Gosalyn tagged along to the Tower; that was the easiest arrangement. If she had a homework project, or if Darkwing had a case, the usual set-up was to have the Muddlefoots watch her until bedtime (usually, Herb and Binkie's rather than Gosalyn's). But on occasions like this night, when Darkwing was on a case and the Muddlefoots were having a family get-together, Beth was called upon to reprise her early "sitter" role. 

Darkwing had been in and out of the house all day, as had Launchpad, so Beth had been hastily called and just told to "come over whenever she could manage". This had meant that Gosalyn had had the place to herself for a large portion of the evening, and when the popcorn had all been popped and the ice cream had all melted, when she had done three trial runs of her skateboard down the front steps, when she'd put out the fire that had sprung up spontaneously when she'd tried to dry off her clothes in the oven... Gosalyn found she was bored. 

So she was a little relieved when, at around 7:30 or so, she heard the front door open over the drone of the TV set as Beth stepped inside. She turned and looked over her shoulder. "Hey, have you seen this movie? It's supposed to be... uhh..." Gosalyn trailed off as Beth, looking uncomfortable, tugged awkwardly at the shirt she was wearing. The shirt, which was tighter than Gosalyn had ever seen her turtleneck-prone friend wear before, also had the added feature of a rather plunging neckline. 

Noticing the young girl's eyebrows jump off of her face, Beth cleared her throat and said, "Um, hey, Gos." 

"This again?" asked Gosalyn. The last time Beth had shown up in anything remotely like this kind of outfit, she'd apparently been intent on getting Darkwing's attention, for all the good it had done her. His reaction seemed to have embarrassed her out of any kind of further efforts. 

"Wh-what do you mean?" asked Beth, her face turning pink. She tugged at her shirt again, then held the jacket she was carrying closer to her chest. She frowned. "Was something burning in here?" 

Gosalyn's eyes flicked away. "What do you mean?" She turned back to the movie she was watching; it had a lot of explosions, and Gosalyn had been counting them. 

Behind her, Beth apparently decided not to press the question as long as Gosalyn didn't press the one she'd asked before. She stepped slowly across the living room towards the couch, and tried to work her tone of voice up to "casual". 

"So!" she said, seating herself carefully on the edge of the couch, "is Launchpad here?" She overshot "casual" by about a mile, and Gosalyn turned and looked at her curiously again. 

"Launchpad?" she asked, and raised an eyebrow. "Noooo, he and Dad both left already." She smirked suddenly. "Is there something you wanted to _say_ to him...?" 

"No," said Beth quickly, and after a moment's consideration she put on her jacket and zipped it up. "I just... wondered." 

"I thought this would've been about Dad," said Gosalyn knowingly. 

Beth turned pink again, and said stiffly, "I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't done my laundry in a while, that's all." 

"Hey, I didn't say anything," said Gosalyn, grinning. 

Silence reigned, but only for a few short moments. Then Beth cleared her throat again. "So - can I ask you something?" she tried. When Gosalyn shrugged, she went on. "Um... you know yesterday, when I asked about Launchpad, and you said -" 

"What do I know?" Gosalyn interrupted her. A note of bitterness crept into her voice as she emphasized, "I'm just a _kid_." 

"Well - but..." Beth stammered a bit, obviously feeling guilty for something she hadn't even said. "Okay, but when you said what you said, did you mean what you said or were you just saying-" 

Gosalyn sighed. "You mean, does Launchpad really have the wing-wangs for you?" 

Beth blinked, taken aback. Then she nodded ever so slightly, and said, "Um... I guess that's what I mean..." 

"Well," said Gosalyn, "I officially don't know. But since you asked, I get to ask YOU a question. Do YOU have the wing-wangs for Launchpad, or what?" 

"No!" said Beth immediately, and she even recoiled slightly. 

"Then why do you keep asking about him? And why the shirt, and the batting the eyelashes and the kissy-kissy stuff?" 

Beth blushed again. "Kissy-kissy stuff? I haven't been -" 

"Whatever, whatever. You know what I mean." 

"Well... it's, it's complicated, Gos." She sighed, and her shoulders slumped forward as she closed her eyes. "There's something I have to get an answer to, and I don't know what to do with one answer but I find it hard to believe the other answer, and -" She stopped. "Maybe you'll understand when you're older." 

"Doubt it," said Gosalyn. She shifted in her seat on the couch until she was supporting her head with one elbow. "If you need to know the real answer, maybe you should ask Launchpad." 

"It's too complicated," Beth said again, and it seemed like that was going somewhere, so Gosalyn cut her off. 

"Fine. Well, I'm out of this. Nobody's allowed to talk to me about this one at all anymore, or else I'm gonna just get up and walk away." 

Beth stared at her hands, then shrugged. "I guess that's fair." She zipped her jacket up further, towards her chin. 

Gosalyn tried to return her attention to the movie she'd been watching, but Beth was getting fidgety. After nearly ten minutes of silence, during which Beth moved her legs around and fiddled with the zipper on her jacket and basically never sat still, Gosalyn hit 'mute' on the remote and turned to face her babysitter. "Let's go hang out with Dad." 

"Oh!" Beth said, looking up with interest written all over her face. "I thought he was working! Are we allowed to do that?" 

"It's okay if you're with me," Gosalyn lied, and bounced her way into one of the chairs. Beth followed more slowly, and Gosalyn did her the favour of waiting until she seemed well-settled before she hit the statue and sent the chairs into motion.

* * *

The first thing Beth noticed when her head began to clear was the sound of the television, and she wondered if they'd ended up back at Gosalyn's house after all. Those stupid chairs always left her disoriented. When she shook her head, however, she could tell they were definitely at the Tower; the light, to begin with, was different. And the television in question was a very large screen in the corner; however, no one was in sight to watch it. 

"Aw, no fair!" cried Gosalyn, bounding out of her seat with the energy of youth and the constitution of someone who was never afflicted with motion sickness. "You guys are just hiding here and watching TV!" 

Darkwing stuck his head around a corner, looking surprised. "Gosalyn?" He looked from his daughter to Beth, who was standing up and sticking her hands in the pockets of her jacket. "Beth! Unless she tied you up and held you hostage until you agreed to let her come here, there'd better be a good reason for this. I am on a case, you know." 

"Oh!" Beth's stomach, already unsteady from the chairs, fell a little at his words. "I thought - I mean, she said -" She aimed a look at Gosalyn, who grinned innocently. "Well -" 

Darkwing shook his head. "I don't have time for this. Just stay out of trouble, okay?" He disappeared back around the corner, which Beth now realized was his main computer terminal. 

"Hey, guys!" Launchpad's voice was, momentarily, disembodied; Beth saw him appear from under the ThunderQuack a moment later. His face had a single smear of grease on it, but his hands had quite a bit more. "How's it goin'?" 

"Boring," answered Gosalyn as Launchpad approached them. Beth fiddled nervously with the zipper on her jacket, but didn't manage to do anything with it. "You guys KNOW there's no reason to leave me at home! I haven't been left home with a babysitter in _ages_!" 

"I need to be able to concentrate, Gos," came Darkwing's voice. "This isn't just your run-of-the-mill crime spree kind of case." 

"Can I at least watch a good movie or something over here?" Gosalyn searched for the remote control to the TV, which Beth now noticed had a satellite on top of it. 

Darkwing's head reappeared quickly. "Don't touch that dial!" he said sharply. "This is the station that airs the Tuo ads, and I need this running in case a new one premieres tonight. There's some kind of connection between Tuo and the Liquidator, and I'm going to figure it out if it means I have to keep the TV on all night!" 

"But when _I_ do it, it's wasting electricity," Gosalyn muttered. 

Launchpad wiped his hands on a nearby towel, apparently unaware of the streak of grease on his face, and chuckled. Beth took a deep breath and said, "Boy, is it hot in here or-" She grit her teeth and forced out the rest of the cliche, "-is it just me?" She unzipped her jacket and slid it off her shoulders as quickly as she could, so that she couldn't chicken out. 

"Huh," said Launchpad, looking around the Tower as though he were examining the temperature of the air. "I didn't notice." 

"Oh." Beth felt a rush of disappointment - though what had she expected, really? For him to fall at her feet in awe, over one low-cut shirt? In any case, what she really should be feeling was relief. She desperately wanted to put her jacket back on, but after her comment of a mere five seconds earlier that would have been strange, so she crossed her arms and held it against her waist instead. "Okay, just me then." She turned towards Darkwing, trying to see him around the side of his computer, and failed to notice when Launchpad did a double-take when he finally looked at her outfit. She took a few steps towards Darkwing, and Launchpad followed her, but this was common enough that she didn't notice it, either. 

"What exactly are you looking for?" she asked Darkwing, hanging over his shoulder. 

Without looking back at her, Darkwing mumbled, "At this point, anything. Background, address, favourite brand of gum - anything. I've got to figure out the connection between Tuo and the Liquidator." 

"If there is one, you mean?" asked Beth. 

"Oh, there is one," Darkwing answered firmly. "SOMEthing is up. At the very least, Tuo has some kind of insider information about when Licky's committed a crime. He's got a new ad ready by the next day at the latest." 

"Oh," Beth said, nodding. "I guess the patent didn't have any information?" 

Darkwing spun around in his seat and stared at her. "Say that again?" 

"The - the patent? On the Horance Tuo Alarm System? D-did you get any information from that?" Beth took a step backwards under the intensity of his expression. Darkwing, meanwhile, smacked his fist into the palm of his other hand. 

"The patent. The _patent_! Thank you, Beth, I hadn't even thought of that!" He turned back to his computer and maneuvered his way into the US Patent Registry. 

Blinking, Beth said, "Oh - I thought you would have already checked!" 

"Well-" Darkwing paused only for a fraction of a moment. "I probably would have thought of it next," he said quickly. "But you know how it is. Lots on my mind and all. Good to have someone there to point out another viewpoint. You know," he said, turning briefly to look at her again over his shoulder, "I guess it's a good thing you two came up here tonight after all!" 

"Well," said Beth, feeling herself start to grin uncontrollably, "well, I mean..." Her face was hot, which felt strange because her arms were cold, but it was strange in a good way. "Well, gosh," she finished. She stepped backwards, feeling light-headed, and bumped into Launchpad. "Oh! Sorry!" 

"Whoops! I think that was my fault," he said, catching her lightly by her shoulders. Her shoulders were bare, and his hands felt hot, but a moment later they were gone. "That's a real nice shirt," he told her. 

She beamed. "Thanks!" He'd moved past her and towards the television before she remembered that his reaction to the shirt was the entire point of her wearing it (though was it too much to ask that Drake might compliment her on it...? Well, never mind on that one), and she took a few quick steps towards him. "Wait, when you say it's 'nice', do you mean-" 

"Rats!" said Darkwing loudly, and all heads - Gosalyn's included - turned towards him. "Nothing! Even the Patent Office can't dig up more than the bare bones of information on this guy!" 

"What does it say?" asked Beth, forgetting about Launchpad yet again. 

Darkwing shook his head. "The Tuo Alarm System is registered to H. Tuo-slash-B.F. Industries. That's it, the end, finito. No phone number, no recognizable company names, no addresses, nothing." 

Since it had been her idea, Beth felt responsible for the failure. "I'm sorry," she said lamely. 

"Eh, not your fault," said Darkwing sullenly. "B.F. Industries. I've never even _heard_ of them. And H. Tuo - he's all I seem to hear about at all these days! How could - huh." He fell silent for a moment, then muttered, "H... Two..." 

Behind Beth, where Gosalyn and Launchpad were watching television, a fast-paced jingle started up. Gosalyn called, "Dad, I think this is what you've been waiting for!" 

Beth turned to see the screen full of a brilliantly animated logo, complete with a spinning disc that slowed and turned into one of the Tuo alarms. As she watched, the animated alarm sprouted arms and legs, became live action, and started dancing. It was joined a moment later by two other dancing alarms, all three in high heels and nylons, and all three singing "Tuo, Tuo, too good to be True-o!" It was the oddest thing she'd ever seen on TV. 

"Hey," said Launchpad thoughtfully, "I know those alarms." That was a statement that sounded even stranger. 

As the alarms sang and danced, Darkwing slowly poked his head out from behind his computer and stared at the screen. Beth looked between him and the image on the TV, and wondered if he was as nonplussed by it as she was. But his expression didn't suggest confusion; in fact, it looked like something was clicking into place for the first time. 

A moment later, he shot to his feet and pointed emphatically at the television screen. "Hydrogen dioxide!" he shouted. Between this, and the ad that was still playing on the screen, Beth wondered if she might actually be dreaming this. 

Darkwing, however, scrambled to the television and grabbed it, staring into the scren. "H. Tuo is a pseudonym!" he announced. He turned and addressed Gosalyn and Launchpad, who were staring at him in what was either awe, or total bewilderment - both of which Beth felt in equal portions. "It finally makes sense! B.F. Industries is Bud Flood! And Horace Tuo -" With an excited shout, he jumped on top of the television and stabbed at the air. 

"Horace Tuo IS the Liquidator!"

* * *

**A/N: Okay okay, I know... everyone and his mother already knew that. I probably was overemphasizing it but - it's Darkwing. I just can't write him figuring it out without him making a big deal out of it. ;D As for why it took him so long, when it was so obvious to us, I was thinking of stuff like in "Just Us Justice Ducks"... You know, "If only I had some kind of clue. ANY clue at ALL!" He looks so hard for the small clues that he just doesn't think about the obvious, sometimes. I'm sorry if it was frustrating for you readers; at least now you know why I wrote it that way. (I also kinda felt like there wasn't a real place to have him figure it out before now.)**


	8. Act II, Chapter 4

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act II, chapter 4**

After that, it was inevitable that they would go out to patrol. Gosalyn was hustled - protesting loudly - back towards the chairs so that she and Beth could get back home for the night, and during the requisite fuss she put up, Launchpad noticed Beth lingering around the chairs, looking uneasy. He sidled up to her. "The chairs make ya feel that queasy?" 

"Oh," she said, with just a touch of surprise, and he noticed that she didn't look nervous; she just looked a little melancholy. "Oh, no. Well, yes, but it wears off in a few minutes. No, I was just... thinking about something." 

"Everything okay?" he asked. She looked uncertain, so he smiled and tried not to get distracted by her shirt. 

"The thing is..." She started, then crossed her arms briskly and remembered the jacket she'd been holding. She started to slide her arms into the sleeves, and began again. "The thing is, um, I have this sort of situation, and I..." She looked at him closely. "Okay - can I ask your advice?" 

"Okay, shoot!" he said. 

Beth nodded. "Okay. Let's say that you have a friend. Right?" 

"Sure." 

"Okay. And this friend has a friend." She paused again, apparently to check if he was still with her, so he nodded. "And the friend really likes her friend, but then she finds out that maybe her friend likes her as MORE than a friend." Instead of pausing, now, she began to speak more rapidly. "So the friend doesn't know if her friend just wants to be friends or if he wants more, and she doesn't want to lose her friendship with her friend, and she might be misreading it but none of her friends can give her a straight answer about her friend." 

She looked at him now, intently, waiting for his reaction. Launchpad blinked. "Wow. That's a lot of friends." 

Beth turned a light shade of pink, and fidgeted. "W-well, never mind. It's actually not even my friends, it's - I read it in a book." 

"Oh. So ya don't need my advice?" That was a relief. He would have needed a weeklong course just to figure out which friend was which. 

"Yeah, don't worry about it." She looked towards Gosalyn, who was seated sullenly on one of the chairs, and sighed. "I guess I better go. Drake will probably want to get out there, huh?" 

Launchpad craned his neck to see Darkwing hanging at an angle out one of the windows, one hand clinging to the wall and the other gripping his binoculars. "Yeah, looks like he's ready." 

"Okay." Beth zipped her jacket up to her neck, and stuck her hands in her pockets. Then she took them out again, and flung her arms around Launchpad's shoulders. 

"Hey," said Launchpad, patting her on the back. This was totally different from the other day, when she'd touched his arm; there was a sincerity to this, a total lack of self-consciousness, that made it clear it wasn't flirting. "DW and I'll be fine." 

"I know." She spoke very quietly against his neck, and it gave him chills. "Launchpad..." she said in a sigh, "I just... don't ever want to hurt you." 

He was taken aback, so much so that he pulled away from her and looked her in the face. She looked at the floor, rather than at him. "You won't," he said, "I mean - you couldn't." It was such a mystifying comment that he couldn't say anything else in response. Beth lifted her eyes to his for a moment, then she smiled - almost reluctantly. 

Behind him, Darkwing called, "Say, LP, what day is it? I know it was Tuesday when I said I wanted to get going, but I've lost track of the time..." 

Launchpad shot over his shoulder, "No problemo, DW, be right there!" He turned back to Beth, who was sliding away from him, and gave her a little wave. "Look, if there's somethin' going on, you know you can always tell me, right?" 

"Of course." Beth smiled, managing to look almost happy, and waved back. "You guys be careful. I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Launchpaaaaad, this _century_ at least?" 

He would have watched Beth and Gosalyn leave, if DW hadn't sounded like he was about to start chewing the walls.

* * *

It was a fair evening, not too warm, and the view out on the waters of the Audubon Bay was so nice that the Liquidator just couldn't pass it up. Imagine if he could sell this view! ...Well, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility. If he bought up the land around here and built up to conceal the skyline... 

He was pondering this, as the last few soggy valuables slid down the nearby drain into the sewer - this, he had decided, would be his last heist; now that his new business was really taking off, who had time for hobbies? - when a motorcycle revved its engine and sped toward him. 

Without turning, the Liquidator found it blatantly obvious who was driving the cycle. Who else would drive straight at a living figure made of water? In the middle of the night? He waited until the vehicle was in ramming distance, and slid quickly to the side. The cycle braked rapidly, spun on the slick pavement so recently vacated, and ended up facing him. From the look on Darkwing's face, the do-gooder clearly hoped he could pass the move off as intentional. 

"So! Caught up with you at last!" Darkwing announced, jumping to his feet before even leaving the confines of the cycle. He flung to the side the ridiculous-looking helmet he'd been wearing and whipped out the useless gun he carried around from someplace in his cape. 

The Liquidator had a certain respect for showmanship, even weak attempts at it such as Darkwing managed, and he had to applaud. "Darkwing Duck, as expected! You're an important part of this complete triumph of the Liquidator!" 

Darkwing glared. "You never change, do you Licky? Or should I say - Horace Tuo?" 

With a knowing smirk, the Liquidator glided over the sewer grating down which he'd shoved his most recent aquisitions, and put his hands on his hips. "Oh, Darkwing, you do earn every cent they pay you for this job, don't you?" He chuckled. "Everyone else figured that out weeks ago!" 

That struck a nerve, as the Liquidator had known it would. Darkwing grimaced. "So you're not even going to deny it? Then I'm arresting you for fraud, extortion, AND petty burglaries!" 

The Liquidator burst into full-blown laughter. "Arresting me! That's rich!" He stretched across the street towards the motorcycle, and Darkwing had to duck as he passed overhead. "And for burglaries? _I_ certainly don't see any stolen goods here. Do _you_?" 

"I'm sure a quick search of your hideout would yield some interesting objects," growled Darkwing. 

"Suspicious minds," chided the Liquidator. "I'm an honest businessman now, Darkwing Duck, and all I want is to bring home my share of the bacon! The Liquidator has given up crime!" 

Darkwing didn't look convinced. "That's a new one." 

"Oh, but it's true! Talk to your doctor about the new-and-IMPROVED Liquidator - robbery-free!" 

Darwing shot a look to his brainless sidekick, who shrugged. The vigilante looked back to his opponent. "You can tell it to the cops, Water Boy. I'm sure the Better Business Bureau will love hearing who Horace Tuo really is, too." 

The Liquidator shook his head sadly. "But I really have turned over a new leaf! It's just sad..." He wiped away an imaginary tear from a face that couldn't get any wetter. "So sad that you won't live to see the proof." 

Pulling as much extra incidental water into his mass as possible, he expanded and shot forward towards the two do-gooders. The sidekick gave a yelp and darted out of the motorcycle sidecar; Darkwing hopped to the side, pulling out an umbrella as he went, and held it up as a shield. 

"Oho! The Boy Scout Motto in action!" said the Liquidator, catching himself after smashing the motorcycle into a nearby phone pole. "Do you really think that's going to stop me? The Liquidator destroys more than 99.9 of heroes in St. Canard!" He launched himself forward again, and added, "By the way: that's you." 

Darkwing shoved the umbrella into the oncoming stream of supervillain, and diverted him to the side. Snapping the umbrella shut, he swung the implement like a sword, and the Liquidator had to dodge quickly. "You're pretty sure you're going to win, huh Licky?" 

"Are you sure I'm not?" The Liquidator laughed again, and slunk into the sewer grate he'd been standing near earlier. 

The sidekick spoke up. "Did he make a break for it, DW?" 

Darkwing didn't seem fooled. "He's not gone. Stay on guard." 

With a silent laugh, the Liquidator pushed up through the closest manhole cover, sending it shooting at Darkwing. The vigilante panicked and tried to deflect the cover with the umbrella, which flew out of his hands, a tattered mess. "On guard!" shouted the Liquidator, and pounced. 

The resulting melee was even more fun than the crime sprees usually were. Darkwing was stuck, defenseless, trying to fight an enemy he could barely touch. The Liquidator enjoyed himself, tossing Darkwing back and forth across the street, and took no notice of the sidekick making a break for it. He was small change anyway; once Darkwing was out of the picture, the sidekick was like a flea. 

He hadn't counted, however, on the sidekick actually _coming back_, and he was startled when something came flying at him and landed right about in his midriff. Looking down, the Liquidator saw a white object getting progressively soggier, settling down to his legs, towards the ground. As he watched it go, he suddenly felt a little - smaller. A moment later, as another object joined the first, he recognized them both as rolls of paper towels. 

The Liquidator looked up to see the sidekick aiming another roll. "Extra-absorbent?!" he gasped. The sidekick nodded, and tossed. 

It was time to call it a night. The Liquidator let go of Darkwing, avoiding the oncoming onslaught of paper products, and ducked into the sewer grate again. He detached himself from the two swollen rolls of paper at his feet, considered the jewelry he'd left lying in the cesspools of the sewer, and decided against bringing it. It would only slow him down, and he really didn't need more financing just now. Better to leave while he still had something like the upper hand. 

He heard soggy, plodding footsteps near the grate he'd come through, and saw Darkwing's feet a moment or two later. The cape was dripping copiously. "Until next time, Darkwing!" he called, and fled down the sewer passage as quickly as he could. There would be a next time, for certain - and it would end quite differently. 


	9. Act III, Chapter 1

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act III, chapter 1**

Gosalyn, getting her standard jump on the day as was her usual habit in summer, was surprised to find her father already awake and sitting in the kitchen when she came in for breakfast. 

"You're up early," she commented as she pulled out the cereal. 

Her father, already in costume minus the hat and cape, gripped his coffee mug with an almost dangerous fervour. "Crime doesn't sleep, Gosalyn!" 

"So you're crime, now?" she asked, unable to resist. 

He glared at her. "No! I'm the - the opposite of crime! The, you know, the antidote!" 

It was at this point that Gosalyn knew that her dad probably hadn't slept much, if at all, the night before. "How much coffee have you had today?" 

He may have been tired, but he was still far too observant. "How much sugar have you put in that cereal so far?" he shot back. 

"Question withdrawn." 

As Gosalyn had a seat at the kitchen table, her father resumed the original conversation. "The best antidote to crime is a good plan," he said, tapping a finger on the handle of his coffee mug, "and I have spent the first part of this morning devising a _great_ plan." 

"So the Liquidator won't know what hit him, huh?" 

"Precisely." Darkwing looked smug, and Gosalyn recognized the sign that he was about to detail the plan in its entireity, so she didn't bother to reply. "Like most excellent plans, its strength lies in its simplicity." 

"Cool beans," Gosalyn offered, contemplating another bowl of cereal before heading out to softball practice. 

"Indeed. It's all a matter of breaking the plan down into steps, you see, and then following each step to the letter." He raised his index finger and pointed insistently at the ceiling. "Step One: go to the source of the television commercials!" 

"Isn't the 'source' the Liquidator? The guy you can't seem to find?" 

Darkwing shook his head, smiling levelly. "Not the _creator_ of the ads, my loving daughter - the source. By which I mean: the television stations."

* * *

Grumbling, Darkwing stalked back to the Ratcatcher and flung his hat down onto the seat. "That guy was _determined_ to be unhelpful," he snarled. 

Launchpad offered hesitantly, "He said that they don't give out contact information for any of their contracts, DW." 

"Yeah, but this is about a _criminal case_." Turning to glare in the direction of the small local station, Darkwing said, "That station _always_ airs the Tuo commercials before any others do. They have some kind of deal and that means they're the best source to go to if we want to find the Liquidator. But that producer -" 

"Maybe he's just doin' his job?" 

"No." Darkwing shook his head. "He's not just doing his job. He's _enjoying_ it." With a snort, he added, "Stupid suit guy." 

"Well," Launchpad asked, "what now? Should we try another studio?" 

"I guess we could, but..." Darkwing eyed the station again. "I _really_ wanna burn that guy." He put his hand to his bill and tapped lightly, in thought. "Is there a pay phone anywhere nearby?"

* * *

The phone rang in Ted's office, and Rory was somewhat relieved as the producer stopped standing behind him glaring and left to go answer it. Rory always worried he was going to mix up tapes when Ted did that, ultimately screw up the airing schedule or the timing or something, and he'd end up losing his internship. Working at the TV station was okay, but it would be a lot better without a scowling guy in a suit standing behind you with his arms crossed, silently judging you for half the day. 

He could hear Ted's half of the conversation from the tiny office, the door to which was open. "Yeah, we run ads for local businesses," Ted said gruffly. There was a pause, then he said, "Well, what kind of lollipop business are you advertising? I mean, is it wholesale or -" Another pause. "Are you just selling them individually? ...Well how can you not know yet?" 

Rory shook his head, unable to hide a grin. Some advertisers were seriously just kooks. He reached for the next set of commercials, which were coming up in another three and a half minutes, and froze at the sight of a face at the window. 

The face nodded at him, and the arms that were attached waved a little. Rory recognized the figure outside as the guy with the hat and cape who had been trying to get inside a little while ago. He looked over his shoulder, but Ted was still on the phone. The duck outside tapped on the glass, so Rory slid the window aside slightly. "Uh, can I help you?" 

"I hope so," said the duck. He poked his head in through the window. "Step back, I'm coming in." 

"Uh -" Rory looked quickly over his shoulders, and the duck saw him and patted his shoulder. 

"Relax. He's gonna be a while." He stuck his thumb out over his shoulder, and Rory saw the taller guy from before standing at a payphone in the distance. 

"He's the one who...?" 

"Yeeeeep," said the duck. "All part of being a detective." He grinned, settling his hat more firmly on his head. "Before you ask, yes, I _am_ Darkwing Duck." 

Rory, who had not even considered this, nodded. "I wondered." 

Darkwing stepped forward, his cape draping over his shoulders. Despite his unorthodox entrance, and the fact that Rory had just watched Ted give him the bum rush, the duck had a definite air of prestige about him. Rory found himself feeling both awed and embarrassed for the guy. "Well," said Darkwing, shooting a look at the nameplate on the work station he stood beside, "Rory - nice name, kid - I was wondering if you could give me a hand with something." 

"Oh, uh, I don't know." Rory checked his clock and was horrified to find that he had only thirteen seconds to get the commercials cued up. "Aw, shoot!" He fumbled with the tapes, while Darkwing looked around the walls of the station. 

"A lot smaller in here than I'd expected," the duck said in a low voice. 

"Yeah," said Rory absently, "everyone says that when they first come in here." He was off by four seconds; he let the commercials play, but watched the clock closely for the exact cutoff time to return to the broadcast. "Once you've been here a while, though, it looks even smaller." 

Darkwing smiled. "So - you deal with commercials?" 

"Kinda." He hovered over the switcher, counting down in his head. "I run 'em. Day programming anyway." 

"Anything you can tell me about Horace Tuo?" 

Rory punched the switcher back to the feed from the Morning Show, and relaxed, thanking his lucky stars that Ted was in the back and hadn't caught him screwing up. "Not really," he answered, turning back to Darkwing. "I mean, I've run his commercials of course, mainly 'cause he's bought up a ton of runtime, but he's never been in the station or anything." 

"No? Not even to sign the contract?" 

"I don't do the contracts," Rory said, "but even so I don't think he ever came in to sign it. I remember 'cause there was this whole thing where Ted got mad that we had to fax a contract and then get it returned in the mail and it took forever." 

"Faxed, huh?" Darkwing put his hand down on Rory's work station, leaning closer as he interrogated. "Not mailed?" 

"No. Ted was all up in arms over it." Rory shot another nervous look at Ted's office door, but he could still hear the phone conversation. "Is this the stuff he threw you out of here over?" 

Darkwing frowned, and stood up straight. "Rory - I'm not going to lie to you. You know why? Because you remind me of me when I was your age." He stepped back, and looked into the distance. "Idealistic... Upstanding... Wanting to do the right thing, even though _some people_ told you to mind your own business." Here, Darkwing gave a quick glance towards Ted's office, before putting a hand on Rory's shoulder. "I have an important criminal case under investigation, Rory, but I need some help. I need _your_ help. And when I've caught the guy I'm after, will I be able to say your name as the hero who helped me crack this case? Or will it just be the idiot who almost blew it for me?" 

Rory knew he was being manipulated. Somehow, though, he couldn't seem too fight it. "I..." He sighed. "What do you want?" 

"Information. Anything you have on Tuo. According to your boss, I won't get it." 

Reluctantly, Rory stood up. "Hang on a second." He checked the clock - there were still nearly seven minutes before he was needed to do anything - so he tiptoed down the hall towards the closet with the ad contracts in it. 

In the opposite direction, Ted was sounding increasingly fed up in his phone conversation. "No, you can't have a twenty-two second commercial, we don't sell them that length. You can either trim it to fifteen or bump it up to thirty, but twenty-two - NO, I'm sorry, but it's not the perfect length now!" Once again, Rory found he couldn't keep from laughing, though it was for a different reason this time. 

He had just enough time to photocopy the information in the Tuo file and return the folder to the contract closet before he needed to get back and cue up the next set of commercials. "Here," he said, shoving the duplicate folder into Darkwing's waiting hands, "but if I get caught for this I'll lose my job. So don't say my name on the news or anything." 

Darkwing tipped his hat, looking even more dramatic than he had upon his entrance, and raised an eyebrow. "Not a problem. Thanks, kid." His cape draped down over his shoulders, forming a robe around his body; suddenly a purple smoke exploded around him, filling the room. 

Rory coughed lightly, waving the smoke away and scrambling to get the commercial tape running. When he could see enough to hit the switcher, the duck was gone, and the window he'd entered through was closed. 


	10. Act III, Chapter 2

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act III, chapter 2**

_A/N: Last chapter took me forever to finish and I didn't really care for the end result. I've had this one done for a while though and mostly am pretty pleased with it. I love writing Herb Muddlefoot. I love him so. Just as a note for those wondering how much longer this story can possibly BE, I'm hoping it'll be sixteen chapters total, four acts with four chapters each. I don't know how the final act will end up going. But that's what I'm aiming for. Let's cross our fingers. ;)_

* * *

"Mission accomplished!" said Darkwing triumphantly, tossing the slim folder onto the desk near his computer at the Tower. 

"Great work, DW!" Launchpad could always be counted on for his cheerleading skills. Good ol' Launchpad. Darkwing realized, in a quiet way, that he was incredibly tired. "So, uh, now what?" 

Darkwing shook his head. "We'll use this info later, to track Licky down. This is going to simplify things a hundred fold, LP, mark my words!" 

Launchpad nodded. "And what do we do when we find him? He's kinda tricky to hang onto." 

"That," said Darkwing, maneuvering his way to the armchairs, "is where Step Two of my plan comes into play." As Launchpad got settled in the opposite chair, Darkwing activated the mechanism that sent them back to their house on Avian Way. 

Continuing the conversation from a moment ago, Launchpad asked, "What's Step Two?" 

Darkwing stood up, and took off his hat and mask. "Step Two is creating the perfect counterpoint to Licky's powers and permutability!" He started up the steps to his room to change his outfit. 

"But how're we gonna do that?" 

"We're not," said Darkwing, pausing halfway up the stairs. "We're going to visit the resident Mad Scientist instead."

* * *

"I don't think 'Mad Scientist' is really fair," said Launchpad as they walked along the sidewalk. "She's not mad." 

"Yeah, she's not really a scientist either," said Drake, eyeing the small van coming up the street. It had a distinct "electronics store" look to it. It pulled to a stop in the Muddlefoots' driveway, as Drake and Launchpad reached the door of their destination. "It was just a line, LP, give it up already." 

"She could be a scientist," Launchpad said, slightly defensively. 

Drake grimaced; he should really have known better than to start this. He knocked on Beth's door once, then turned the knob and pushed the door open. 

Beth, who was already on her feet and heading for the door, stopped suddenly as if surprised. Then she smiled, her face lighting up. "Hi!" she said brightly. She stepped forward again, then backward towards the table she'd obviously been working at a moment before, and put a hand down on the papers that were strewn over it. "Um, come in!" 

Drake waited for Launchpad to step over the threshold, then slowly closed the door. He had no idea what was going on, but Beth had her hair up in a bun at the back of her head and she had woven what were clearly, even at a distance, three pens into the hairstyle. He shot a look at Launchpad, his eyebrows raised, and his sidekick shrugged a little in response. The shrug clearly said, "Well, she's not USUALLY like a mad scientist." 

"Busy?" asked Drake, approaching the table. The papers that covered its surface were all filled with scribbled equations. 

Beth, grinning widely at him with the clear elation of a person looking at the sunshine of her life, waved dismissively. "Oh, work stuff. Nothing much. You guys remember that promotion I got a little while ago?" She didn't give them time to even nod before she went on. "Um, basically now I'm going to be doing some behind-the-scenes programming kind of things, and they wanted me to work on a compression standard for the information on the discs, and I was just..." She trailed off, noticing that they looked blank. "It's... nothing, really. What's up?" 

"Beth," said Drake importantly, "I need your help." 

Her reaction was perfect. "You do?" she asked, with a kind of quiet awe. "_My_ help?" Her eyes flicked towards Launchpad, who nodded. 

"As you know, we're up against the Liquidator." Drake pulled a chair up to the table, and had a seat. "And what we need is a weapon - something defensive - something that can incapacitate him before he even sees it coming." 

"Oh." Beth sounded less enthusiastic. Drake gave a shot at talking up the assignment. 

"This is the _key_ in breaking the case!" he said, trying not to sound as if he were manipulating her. "Going up against water isn't exactly a piece of cake, you know, and with all the investigation stuff going on I don't have the time or energy to devote to every aspect of this -" 

"Um, Drake?" 

"You're probably worried about living up to my standards of gadgets," he said reassuringly, "but don't worry! I don't need anything fancy. Just - creative! Something that will just suck the moisture right out of the air, maybe, and if you can make it sort of streamlined and metallic that would be great - I wouldn't expect you to paint it purple, in fact if you leave it gray I think I have some paint left over so I can do that part myself -" 

"Drake? Before you get carried away -" 

"Say!" he said, having a flash of inspiration. "How do those extra-absorbent paper towels work? Maybe you could design something based on that! We had luck with those the other night." 

Beth sat down, looking serious. "They use more fibers." 

"Oh." That wasn't as keenly scientific as he'd hoped. "Well, whatever works, right?" 

"Drake, um..." She looked downright unhappy now. "The thing is, I'm really no good with machines." 

"Huh?" This took Drake so much by surprise that he was stopped cold. 

"I just... I'm not really that kind of, um... Well, I don't know how to put it. Building things - engineering, that's not really my, um, strong suit." She sighed. "I'm sorry. I really _want_ to help you, but I'm just kind of useless with machinery. If you needed any algorithms or something, that would be different..." 

"Oh." Drake shot a glare at Launchpad, who was peering at one of the sheets of paper on the table. "Why didn't you tell me?" he hissed. 

"Well, you didn't tell _me_ what you wanted to ask her until we got here," said Launchpad in a quiet voice. Drake crossed his arms and sulked. 

"Um," said Beth hesitantly, "do you guys want anything to drink?" 

Drake nodded. "Yeah, sure, whatever." 

"I'll give you a hand," said Launchpad, as Beth stood up. She thanked him, and they left for the kitchen, leaving Drake alone at the table. He had a seat, poked sullenly at the mess of papers, and grumbled to himself. "Honestly. If she's going to be a genius, the least she can do is to make some decent inventions." The papers nearest him were covered in illegible scribbles that vaguely resembled numbers and the occasional letter. How, exactly, this could translate into a computer program was lost on him. 

When Beth and Launchpad returned, he did his best to keep from looking too put out. Beth presented him with a large glass of iced tea, and raced to pull some papers off the middle of the table as Launchpad put down a pitcher of the same. There were leaves of mint at the top of the glass. "Where'd you get this?" Drake asked, crushing them a little and then stirring them into the tea. 

"She grows 'em in her kitchen," said Launchpad, sounding as delighted and proud as if Beth had cured the common cold. Next to him, Beth looked both pleased and embarrassed. 

"Oh," said Drake; it wasn't that big a deal. He caught Beth's face as it fell a little bit, and winced inwardly. It dawned on him, at last, that if his opinion on kitchen herbs was that important to her, then everyone was right: he really was going to have to talk to her. And it wasn't something he could just rush into, either; he'd have to say it in just the right way. As if he didn't have enough to worry about. He sighed. "Good tea, Beth," he offered, and sure enough, her face lit up again. Sheesh. 

"Old family recipe," she said, and laughed as if it were some kind of joke. Drake, who wasn't much with cold drinks and didn't consider iced tea his forte, saw nothing funny in the remark but laughed politely to keep her from going mopey again. She pulled a chair out slightly, indicating to Launchpad that he should sit, and said, "Listen, Drake, um - these things you want. Do they need to be gadgets? I mean, like, did you have your heart set on a ray gun, or...?" 

"I was just hoping for something that could help us fight the Liquidator, with bonus points if it looks cool. Why?" This sounded like an opening, and Drake's interest was piqued. 

"Well..." Beth looked briefly at Launchpad, for no reason that Drake could discern, then turned back to Drake. She wound her fingers together and tapped her hand on the tabletop nervously. "Um, I might - _might_ be able to pull something together." 

"_Really?_" Drake pounced forward, knocking a few sheafs of paper to the floor. Launchpad stooped to get them, and Beth looked startled and put her hands on the table to steady it. "Er - sorry. You mean it, though?" 

If anything, this made Beth even more nervous. "I - I think so. But how soon do you need them?" 

"Tonight!" 

She frowned. "Would Friday work?" 

Drake was a good hand at haggling. "That's two days away! The longer the Liquidator is on the loose -" 

"I just - I have all this, this stuff, and..." Beth gestured helplessly. "I guess... I could have it by tomorrow night..." 

"Deal!" Drake sprang forward again, and grasped Beth's hands in a strong shake. "Thanks, Beth, I owe you a big one!" 

"Oh, you don't..." She said, blushing, and broke the double handshake to push her glasses back up her face before they slid off. "It's my pleasure, really." 

Drake stood, and gestured to Launchpad, who was finishing off his glass of iced tea. "C'mon, LP, we'd better get back to work. Beth, I'll leave you to your brilliance; if by any chance you finish up early..." 

"I'll be by as soon as I'm done," she said, smiling. She looked down to the table, and frowned. "Um... shoot, where'd I put my pen? That's the third one I've lost!" 

"I'm sure it'll turn up," said Drake, rolling his eyes. He made for the door, but turned back upon realizing Launchpad wasn't with him. 

His sidekick gently pulled one of the pens out of Beth's up-do and handed it to her. "Here ya go. You got two others up there, too," he said, and winked. 

"Oh." She became slightly flustered. "Th-thanks. Heh." She pulled the other two pens out, dislodging a few sections of hair in the process, and blushed. "Well..." 

"See ya," Launchpad offered, and joined Drake at the door. Beth stared for a moment before waving at them both, and Drake returned it sharply as he left.

* * *

The van was still outside the Muddlefoots' house as they made their way back home. So, by this point, was Herb; he stood with a supervisory air, watching a pair of men on a ladder as they placed wiring around the outside of the house. 

"Maybe we can sneak by," Drake whispered to Launchpad as they drew closer. But he had no such luck; Herb turned as they approached, and gave them both a hearty wave. 

"Howdy, neighbours!" he bellowed, and waddled up to meet them. "Boy, you two sure picked a nice day for a walk, huh? Weatherman said it's s'posed ta get up near a hunnerd degrees today an' that's too hot fer me!" 

"Yeah, it's hot alright, Herb," Drake agreed quickly. "Probably best if we both get inside to our separate residences and just crank up the air conditioners without wasting time socializing." He moved to step past his portly neighbour, but met with little success. "Uh... s'cuse me." 

"Well, I'm gettin' some security systems put in, m'self," said Herb, as though they'd been talking home renovation prior to that statement. He indicated the front of his house. "All those wire doohickeys. Thought I oughta have it done by perfessionals, make sure it's done right, ya know? You heard about all those burglaries, huh Spud?" 

"Yeah, the Liquidator ones?" Launchpad chimed in, and failed to notice the dirty look Drake gave him. "Sure, they've been all over the news!" 

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" said Herb cheerfully. "An' so I went out an' got one o' those little waterproof babies, ya know? An' guess how many times it went off last week. G'wan, guess, Drakester!" 

He elbowed Drake in what was evidently meant as an encouragement. Drake, his face set in sullen gloom, stumbled and then regained his balance. "Tell me. I'm dying to know," he deadpanned. 

"_Three times_!" It was hard to tell, but Herb seemed oddly proud of this fact. "Neighbourhood just ain't safe anymore, Spud, I tell ya! If we hadn't'a had that alarm goin' off, who _knows_ who mighta broken in!" Herb turned and pointed at his house again, nodding a mite. "So I figgered, time to go the whole twelve yards an' get the Tuo 2.0!" 

"The what?" Drake snapped to attention. 

"Latest in Tuo technology, Drakester! Sure, it costs a pretty penny but it covers yer whole house, an' you can rest easy knowin' nobody, but _nobody_ is gettin' in without yer say-so! Can't put a price on safety, am I right?" 

"Let me get this straight," said Drake, noticing for the first time the bars on the inside of Herb's windows and the metal plating that was being affixed to the walls. "'Horace Tuo' has released a new home security system?" 

"The Tuo 2.0," Herb said, nodding. 

"And it's a whole-house system that - what, puts the building on _lock-down_?" 

"Nobody gets in when that baby's activated, that's what they say on the commercial!" 

"When did this come out?" Drake demanded. 

Herb shrugged. "Oh, I just saw the commercial this mornin', but after the last alarm went off I'd been thinkin' 'bout gettin' somethin' like this anyway. An' Tuo's a name ya can trust, ya know?" 

Drake bit back his comment so hard that his teeth ground together. Launchpad patted him on the back. "Easy, DW," he said in a low voice. 

"Excuse me, Herb," said Drake, after a few deep breaths. He pushed his way past the body blocking the sidewalk, and stalked towards his house. 

"Hey, Drakester! If you wanna get one'a these yerself, I can getcha a referral discount! Gimme a call an' I'll give ya my customer number!" Herb yelled after him. Drake slammed the door open and, if Launchpad hadn't been following him, would have slammed it shut with equal ferocity. 


	11. Act III, Chapter 3

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act III, chapter 3**

When Gosalyn came home for lunch, her father was still sitting at the kitchen table. If he hadn't changed out of his costume, she'd have wondered if he had been there since she'd left, hours ago. 

"Gosalyn, you are looking at a supremely structured superhero." 

"Practice went great, thanks," said Gosalyn, heading to the fridge for orange juice. Her father looked annoyed. "I worked out a great strategy for the game on Saturday, which you promised you would be at this time, and if you're not we agreed I get a new skateboard." 

"Yes, yes, I remember." He'd slumped onto the table. "Great to hear about the practice. Do you want to know what _I_ did today?" 

Gosalyn smiled. "Thanks, Dad! I _am_ excited about the game, and I _do_ love being one of the star players on the team!" 

Drake sighed, and straightened up. "Gos. You know I'm very proud of you for your various summertime accomplishments. And I have every intention of having the Liquidator behind bars by Saturday, so you can count on me being at the game. And I want to hear all about your practice, in great detail that only an athlete would truly appreciate, but maybe that could wait just a tiny, TINY bit?" 

Satisfied, Gosalyn said, "Sure, Dad. So, how'd the crimefighting go this morning?" 

Her father gave her the eye as she settled herself into a chair across the table from him. "Swimmingly. And yes," he said quickly, "I do remember that I said we'd go to the beach next week, it's on the calendar, can't wait." She closed her mouth and settled down, grinning. "As I was saying, though, my plans thus far have come to great fruition. The TV station couldn't wait to give me the information I needed, once I explained that it was a key element in my quest for justice. Launchpad's at the Tower right now, looking through the folder they had on Tuo and investigating the contact info." 

"Way to go," Gosalyn said, and did not regret not having been along for this particular "quest for justice". Hounding a TV station for information on a contract holder? Sounded like a snooze-fest. "That didn't take the whole morning, did it?" 

"Ah, that's where my second accomplishment of the day came in," Drake said proudly. "Guess who's going to get his hands on some premium, customized weapons to fight the Liquidator, and managed to avoid the delays and paperwork that come from going through S.H.U.S.H.?" 

Another snore-inducing step in her father's weird plan; Gosalyn was much more interested in the weapons when they were actually in hand, and the negotiating was totally forgettable. Still, she felt she should be supportive. "Keen gear, Dad," she said. "How'd you do it?" 

"Asked Beth," he said smugly. 

"Oh, the resident Mad Scientist, huh?" 

Drake rolled his eyes. "Don't say that around Launchpad." 

"Like I need to be told that," Gosalyn answered. "So were those steps one and two?" When her father nodded, she asked, "Then what's step three?" 

"Step three," he said, and rose to his feet dramatically, then proceeded to put one foot on the chair he had just vacated, "is a nap. I'm _beat_." 

Gosalyn laughed. "This is the stuff they never show you in the comics." 


	12. Act III, Chapter 4

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act III, chapter 4**

_A/n: Yeah, I know last chapter was a cheat. This act (and only this act) I had a format of one "step" per chapter, and... that was step three. ;) This one makes up for it though!_

* * *

Drake woke up an undetermined amount of time later to the sound of an oddly metallic crash. Groggily, he considered trying to read the clock but decided it was more immediately important to find out what the noise had been and how much damage had been done. 

The slightly heavy light implied it was late afternoon; he made his way to the window in time to hear Gosalyn calling from their backyard to the neighbour's yard, "Don't worry, Honk, my Dad'll never know! He's asleep!" 

"Wrong!" Drake yelled, poking his head out of the window. 

Gosalyn appeared from around the back of the house, and stared up at him. "Rats." 

"What was that?!" 

"Just the air conditioner unit! And it's totally fixable! You _really_ don't have to get up!" 

Drake sighed. It was obviously _really_ time for him to get up.

* * *

"Okay LP, whaddaya we got?" 

Launchpad, standing at the ready next to the ThunderQuack, clutched the folder and looked uneasy. "Uh, not a _whole_ lot," he said. 

"Not a whole lot is still something, right?" Darkwing, refreshed and rejuvenated, felt more than ready to tackle Step Four: Locating and Staking Out The Liquidator's Hideout Before Returning And Taking Him By Surprise In Two Days. 

"Well..." Launchpad trailed off, and examined his sleeve. 

Darkwing laughed, and tried to find the humour in Launchpad's demeanour. "LP, you were here researching this information for the past four hours. You _have_ to have found _something_." 

"It's just there wasn't much to go on, DW," his sidekick answered. He held the folder out, and Darkwing hesitated, then took it. 

On the left-hand side was a contract, signed illegibly; Darkwing skimmed it but didn't find much information. He rifled through the photocopied papers on the other side - receipts, with "PAID IN FULL" stamped across them, and a single sheet of contact information. "No phone number," he said quietly. "No work address, no work number, not even an emergency contact. Just a fax number and a home address." He looked up at Launchpad, and shrugged. "But all we need is an address. You tracked that down right away. Right?" 

Launchpad scratched his head. "I guess they didn't verify any of the information. That address is for a vacant lot." 

Darkwing frowned, and his hand constricted slightly on the folder. "You're kidding me." 

"Nope. I looked up a map an' then I checked the current city plans. There's nothin' at that address right now." He took the folder away from Darkwing, and pointed at the fax number. "But I did do a trace on this number, an' I got an address." 

Grinning, Darkwing shot forward and slapped his sidekick on the shoulder. "You kidder! You had me going there. 'Didn't find much' he says. Like I said, an address is all we need!" 

Looking doubtful, Launchpad said, "Well, it might not be quite what we're lookin' for." 

"No harm in trying, right? C'mon LP, let's get dangerous." He flipped up the cockpit to the ThunderQuack and seated himself, then waited for Launchpad to follow.

* * *

The one thing the building did not resemble was a hideout for the Liquidator. 

In fact, Darkwing thought irritably, there were quite a few things this place didn't resemble. The only thing it actually _did_ resemble, now that he thought of it, was a deli. 

"A deli," he said aloud. 

"Well," said Launchpad, joining Darkwing in staring up at the "Melly's Deli" sign above the door, "I did tell ya that a couple times on the way over." 

Darkwing scowled. "I thought it was a cover. Not an _actual deli_." 

"Nope, they're real. And they make great corned beef sandwiches!" 

With a snort, Darkwing pushed the door open and entered the building. "Fantastic. We can write that in our restaurant reviews. 'Great eats, and don't house supervillains!'" 

As they stepped inside, various people looked up and shouted, "Launchpad!" The pilot grinned and waved. 

"You're a regular?" Darkwing asked tiredly. 

"Well, I've come by a few times," said Launchpad sheepishly. "That's how I know about the sandwiches." 

"Uh-huh." He made his way to the counter, trying to take in the shop as a whole in case some minor detail pertained to the Liquidator. Nothing jumped out at him. 

The young woman behind the order counter gave him a chipper smile. "Hi! Are you ready to order?" 

"Not just yet," he answered. "I have a few questions for you." 

"Sure! If it's about bread, I can save you a little time and tell you that yes, we _do_ offer rye bread as an option." Darkwing looked at her, momentarily nonplussed. She cocked her head. "We get that question a lot." 

"Riiiiight." He gave the area another quick glance around, and then leaned over the counter towards her. This kind of intimidation often worked, but he had a feeling it might be lost on a girl like this. Still, worth a shot. "What do you know about Horace Tuo?" 

She blinked. "Is that a condiment? We do have horseradish -" 

"This isn't about sandwiches!" Darkwing snapped, and the girl took a step back, her smile falling from her face. 

A burly man in an apron stepped into view, gently pushing the girl back. "Don't worry Kelly, I'll deal with this guy. There something we can help you with?" He gave a nod to Darkwing's right. "Hey, Launchpad." 

"Hey Mel." Launchpad waved, and turned his attention to the menu overhead. 

"Mel, huh? You own this establishment?" At the older man's nod, Darkwing tried the intimidation-lean again. "Then I want you to tell me everything you know about Horace Tuo!" 

The lean had no effect. Mel frowned at him. "We have his alarm and security system installed. That's about the end of it." 

"Oooh! _That_ Horace Tuo!" squealed Kelly as she looked up from the order pad she was doodling on. "I feel so much safer having that thing in here!" 

"Why? Has it actually deterred any robberies during business hours? Or is there some _other_ reason?" Darkwing peered at the girl, who shrank back uncomfortably until Mel stepped in front of her again. 

"Why don't you just talk to me, fella," said Mel firmly. 

"Okay. Then why don't YOU answer my question?" 

Mel leaned forward over the counter, and Darkwing found himself taking a step back. It was just because the guy was so _big_, really; just a reflex. Darkwing really wasn't intimidated in the least. "I put the alarm up because this neighbourhood got hit by a lot of flooding robberies, and I thought it would give us an edge. After it went off more than seven times, we all started to get nervous, so I had the 2.0 security system installed. No more worries. Anything more you'd like to know?" 

"Sure, now that you mention it," Darkwing said smoothly. "Do you have a fax machine?" 

"Yep. In the back. We don't use it much but a few of our customers like to fax in large orders for catering." 

Darkwing nodded. "And do you use it for setting up contracts with television stations?" 

"What?" Mel looked puzzled. "What does that mean?" 

"Is your fax machine's number 555-4433, _Melly_?" Darkwing asked sharply, and Mel's frown grew. 

"It is, and I'd like to know why you asked if we had one when you already knew-" 

"Do you," said Darkwing, reaching into his cape and pulling out the Tuo file, "recognize this number right here?" He pointed to the fax number. 

Mel's eyes widened. "Hey, what _is_ this?" 

"I can ask you that." 

The deli owner took the folder and pulled it closer, as if looking for extra numbers in what was printed there. "This is _our_ fax number." 

"Glad you caught on." Mel looked up at him briefly, his expression sour, but quickly looked back down at the sheet. "Can you explain why Horace Tuo is using your fax machine for his business contracts?" 

Mel clearly could not. He lowered the sheet, looking confused, but said nothing. A few feet away, Kelly cried out, "Oh, _that_ Horace Tuo!" When both Darkwing and Mel turned their attention to her, she blushed slightly and added, "We get a lot of junk faxes and I clear them out every morning and evening just before we close. And we kept getting all these multi-page things that had that name on 'em! I thought it was just, you know, some kind of pyramid scam!" 

Darkwing considered strangling her, but decided that denying her brain any oxygen would not have much of an effect. Instead he said tightly, "So what exactly did you _do_ with these 'junk faxes'?" 

"I just throw 'em out. In the dumpster out back. Wow - THAT Horace Tuo. I didn't know you meant THAT one! Huh, small world!" She smiled at her boss and Darkwing, cocked her head, and said, "Did you want to order a sandwich?" 

Mel cleared his throat. "Well, this is... surprising." He looked up at Darkwing, his demeanour entirely changed. "Is Tuo involved in something - illegal?" 

"You might say that," said Darkwing, holding his hand out for the folder. After a moment, Mel reluctantly handed it over. "There's too much for me to go into right now, but I am investigating the situation. I'd like you to do me a favour." 

Mel nodded, and Darkwing continued: "It's likely that Tuo is staying someplace in the area. We have an address, but it's fake. I'd like you to keep an eye on your dumpster and just remember anything suspicious that you see, and about when you see it. The best would be if you could get an idea of where anyone suspicious is coming from, but anything will be fine. I'll check back with you tomorrow." 

"Sure," said Mel, sounding dazed. "Think I'll change my fax number." 

"Don't do anything yet," said Darkwing. "I'm counting on you here." Mel nodded again. Darkwing looked around for his sidekick, and found Launchpad at the cash register, a brown paper bag in his hand. He sighed. "Gee, did you want to get a seat and enjoy the ambience?" 

"Oh, I thought we were in a hurry!" said Launchpad, missing the sarcasm entirely, and Darkwing had to stop him from changing the order to eat-in and getting a tray.

* * *

"No, it _didn't_ go 'pretty well', Launchpad," said Darkwing irritably, watching Launchpad wolf down half a sandwich before he took the ThunderQuack up into the air. "We were _supposed_ to stake out the Liquidator's hideout tonight, and instead we're no closer than we were before." 

"Oh yeah. That's too bad," said Launchpad, wiping mustard from his fingers onto a napkin. He started up the jet. 

Darkwing sighed. "And it doesn't help any that _you_ are completely disinterested in this case." 

"Huh?" This got Launchpad's attention. "That's not true! I'm real interested!" 

"Feh. You haven't been able to keep your mind on this case from the day it started. If it isn't corned beef sandwiches, it's _Beth_." 

Launchpad looked abashed. "I haven't mentioned Beth tonight," he said, in the low tone of voice that doubled as an acknowledgement of guilt. 

"No, but you've been thinking about her. In fact, you were even thinking about her while you were eating that sandwich, weren't you?" Launchpad didn't answer, but he half-grinned hung his head a bit. "You're _my_ sidekick! Your mind should always be on the case! If you don't focus, disaster can happen!" 

"I'm focused!" Launchpad objected, but unfortunately he was focused on Darkwing instead of his surroundings, and for a panicked moment the crimefighter thought the jet was going to plow right into a skyscraper.

* * *

Upon reaching the Tower, Darkwing had given Launchpad the evening off. The pilot had protested, but seeing as how Launchpad had spent a full day researching the Tuo contact information, Darkwing felt charitable enough to give him a freebie. Besides, he was yawning all over the place, and it was distracting. 

Darkwing sat at his computer terminal, idly poking his way through street maps and city layouts. Nothing much was jumping out at him. He sighed and picked up the Tuo Alarm System - the original one - that had been abandoned on a workbench since Darkwing had figured out the connection to the crime wave. 

It still looked cheap and useless. He switched it on, looked it over, and tossed it to the side. The part that was bothering him the most was the fact that the Liquidator had claimed he was going straight, and it was beginning to look like - in a crooked kind of way - he'd been telling the truth. The alarm system was a crock, certainly, but all Licky had done was create a "supply and demand" for a new product. Now that the alarm was selling, the crime rate was going way down. 

It was disappointingly non-supervillain-ish. It was more like embezzling, and sure, Darkwing would take that kind of corporate crime if he had to but he expected better from the class of criminal the Liquidator belonged to. 

Five minutes later, he nearly jumped out of his skin when the Tuo Alarm activated itself. He fumbled for the 'off' switch, and when he couldn't find it quickly enough he smacked it on the table three times and finally chucked it out the window. 

"That thing shouldn't have gone off," he said aloud, mostly to drown out the thumping of his heart with the sound of his own voice. "That's only supposed to go off if there's an intruder." And there couldn't be an intruder - not at the Tower. No one was at the chairs; was it just a bad wire? Or- 

Suddenly the plot began to click into place. Herb, and Mel from the deli, each telling him how they'd had the alarm go off repeatedly in the past few days... 

The real money was in the total security system. The cheap plastic device swindles the consumer into thinking they need to buy the next step up, for their own safety. And then what? Was there going to be a Tuo 3.0? Licky considered himself an entrepreneur; he didn't seem likely to stop at this. 

_Well,_ Darkwing decided, _guess it's up to me to get rid of him before Tuo Three-Oh makes the scene._


	13. Act IV, Chapter 1

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act IV, chapter 1**

Beth sat on her couch, her knees pulled up to her chin, and felt unhappy. 

She should be getting over to Drake's house with the "weapons" she'd promised him. That had been the intent - she even had them packed up carefully in a shopping bag sitting by the door - but she couldn't quite talk herself into going over. She was moping, and she knew it, and it was annoying even to her, but she couldn't stop it. The trouble was Launchpad. 

She wished it had never occurred to her that Launchpad might... That he acted... Well, whatever it was, she wished she'd never noticed it. It was all that stupid love potion's fault anyway, and she _certainly_ wished that had never happened. And now a perfectly good friendship was tense and weird and awkward, and probably over nothing, but she'd never know for sure. 

The tragedy of it was that this was the first real, strong friendship she'd ever had, and the one she never wanted to lose. It just wasn't _fair_! And the worst of it was that she didn't even know for certain, despite all her admittedly quite foolish attempts to figure it out. She'd been making a fool out of herself all week, in unfair attempts to get Launchpad's attention; but in the end, she couldn't tell if the response she got came from an actual interest that he had in her, or the undeniably strange way in which she was behaving. 

Beth put her head on her knees, and sighed. Did it count for anything that Launchpad seemed unaware of any difference in their friendship? With that thought, she straightened up a bit as an idea occurred to her. It could mean two things: either that he wasn't romantically interested in her, or else that even if he was, _he was happy with things the way they were._

For the first time, she considered the situation as something other than earth-shatteringly bad. Say, for the sake of argument, that he _was_ in love with her. Why was that bad? 

Obviously, it was bad for Launchpad, since Beth didn't feel the same way. But Launchpad was well aware of how she felt about Drake - she'd never made any secret of it to him - and he never seemed upset about it. It didn't seem to affect him the same way that finding out about Drake's girlfriend had affected Beth; he didn't seem to pine the same way that she did. So either he wasn't interested, or he just - dealt with it. 

From an objective standpoint - would it be so bad, having someone like Launchpad interested in her? When she thought about it this way, Beth realized that it really wouldn't. Actually - it was a very flattering thought. Launchpad was really, after all, an incredibly handsome guy; good-looking, athletic, funny and charming, he was a real catch. Guys like that were not generally interested in bookwormy computer geeks like Beth. In fact, no guy like that had _ever_ been interested in Beth - nor had any other guy. 

Well, she realized. If it were true - big "if", there, but if it _were_ - it wouldn't really be that bad at all. 

She re-inserted Launchpad's feelings into the equation, and didn't know what to do. Flattering for her, but ultimately disappointing for him. Beth's heart belonged to someone else, even if that someone didn't seem to be aware that he had it and was sort of in an unintentional habit of stepping on it from time to time. 

She'd just have to talk to Launchpad, then. That was the fair thing to do. If he was - if he did feel - well, she'd talk to him about it. Set a few things straight. Let him know how much she cared for him as a friend, how he'd filled a place in her life no one had ever filled, and how she was sorry she'd been so insensitive as to talk about Drake and being lonely for all this time. Above all, let him know how much she cared about him, even though it wasn't the same as with Drake. They'd work it out. This was Launchpad. He'd understand. 

It would be a lot easier if she knew for sure, but - well, actually, there was really only one way to do that, wasn't there? She'd have to ask him. Delicately, so that if the answer was "no" she wouldn't look like a complete egomaniac, but in a way that left no room for confusion. 

That was it. She would do it. 

Beth stood up and made for the door before she lost her resolution. She didn't know yet what she'd say, but she'd think of something when she got there. She grabbed the shopping bag on her way out, her mind racing and her heart, for the first time in days, feeling lighter.

* * *

Launchpad was crossing the room towards the transport chairs when the front door flew open. He was surprised to see that it was Beth; she kept talking about her chronic fear of coming in without knocking first, but she didn't look like anything was wrong. In fact, when she saw him, she smiled almost giddily. "Hey," she said, and held up a shopping bag. "I brought the - the stuff, you know, for Drake." 

He grinned. "The hook-up?" 

"You betcha." She returned his grin, and came into the house the rest of the way, closing the door behind herself. 

"I'll go get DW, then, he'll be real -" 

"Um, wait." She stooped to put the bag down, and approached him very quickly. Now that she was closer, he could see she was agitated about something, but she still didn't seem upset; in fact, somehow she seemed happier than she had for a little while. She put her hand on his forearm. "I need to ask you something." 

"Okay, shoot," he said, but she looked uncertain and shook her head. 

"I... I need to... I need a second. To figure it out right." 

"Okay," he said again. "Uh, wanna sit?" 

She nodded, and sank onto the couch. Her face had gone introspective. Sometimes, Launchpad found, she went all thoughtful and she got this little indentation in her forehead, right between her eyebrows, and it was really sweet. She was doing it now, in fact. "Um... Okay, well, um..." She laughed softly, and shook her head. "Okay. I was watching this - this movie, see, about... relationships." 

"Is this another friend of a friend thing?" he asked, and she laughed, turning a cute shade of pink. 

"No, no. Nothing like that. I just got to thinking, you know, relationships are funny, aren't they? And dating, and all. Not that I have a lot of experience, but you know, Drake has a girlfriend, and a lot of people go out on dates and so forth, and um, it - it occurred to me that I've never seen you, um, go out with anyone. On a date." 

He had to wonder why this subject was coming up. It was really... strange, an odd coincidence, that this should come up _now_. "Well... I guess I haven't lately." He didn't add "But I used to," because it was only sort of half-true - he didn't do much dating back in Duckberg either, since most of the women he met, he had to leave behind - but also because it wasn't exactly the image he wanted her to have of him. Instead he said, "But you don't go out either." 

"Oh, yeah, but that's _me_. I mean - you know." This seemed to make her nervous, so he let it drop. She went on: "I just wondered, you know, you probably have opportunities, you have time, so why, um, w-why..." Actually, he noticed, it didn't seem to be talking about herself that made her nervous; she was practically trembling. 

"Why don't I go out on dates?" he finished for her. She nodded. "Uh, well, I guess I just... haven't met the right girl." He hoped that was a good answer. It wasn't precisely _true_, but "The right girl isn't interested in me, and by the way, she's you" wasn't quite how he wanted the conversation to go. 

Beth nodded, going thoughtful again. "I see. Yeah. That makes sense." She looked up at him, now a bit less nervous, a bit more intense and focused. "If you... If you found the right girl... You'd tell her, right?" 

Wow. There couldn't be a better opening than that. Launchpad was momentarily floored. "Absolutely," he said, his mouth entirely dry, and he wasn't at all sure that was the right answer, except that it was, because now he had to put his money where his mouth was. He'd promised DW he was going to wait - DW and Beth were supposed to have "the talk" first, and Launchpad really did feel that was for the best - but he might never have a chance like this one again. 

"Well," said Beth, with an unexpected finality to her tone. She put her hands on her knees, and stood up. "That's good - because, communication, you know..." 

He nodded. "It's important." 

"_So_ important." She stood for a moment longer, her arms hooked behind her back, rocking on her heels a little; her expression held a sort of lingering regret. "Well! I just... wondered about that. But I should probably really get these to Drake so that he can get out, and..." She moved around to the other side of the couch, towards where she'd set the bag. 

Launchpad twisted in his seat, and looked at her over the back of the couch. He realized he had no idea what to say, but he was about to lose his opening if he didn't figure it out quick. "Hey, 'fore you do, I... uh..." This was it - he was about to go into the spot you couldn't talk your way out of. "I got something I want to tell you." 

"Yeah?" She stepped forward with a quickness that surprised him, and he swore her demeanour lightened. 

"Well..." He looked down at his thumbs, which suddenly provided a very good focal point for his gaze. "I guess I just... wanted to say..." 

The door to the kitchen opened. It was the worst moment ever. Launchpad looked up in total surprise, as though he'd forgotten anyone else was in the house, and Beth's expression suggested that she felt the same way. "Thought I heard voices out here. Does this mean my weapons are done?" said Drake, sounding gladder to see Beth than Launchpad could ever remember him being. He looked between them, at the nearly-identical expressions on their faces, and said, "...Was I interrupting something here?" 

They looked at one another, wide-eyed, and before Launchpad could say anything Beth looked back at Drake. "Well - um - we were talking... I mean, he was just about to-" She pointed nervously at Launchpad, then turned again to face him and shrugged apologetically. "Five minutes? Then we'll come back to this - okay?" 

"Hey, sure." That came out like a rush of air, almost uncontrolled. Despite his disappointment, Launchpad couldn't even try to pretend he didn't feel a huge weight come off his shoulders - even if it was only indefinitely postponed. Beth darted to the corner and picked up her shopping bag, then looked back to Drake. 

"Is that it? The whole bag?" Launchpad recognized DW's "new crime-fighting gear" voice, and had a feeling it was going to be one of those tones of voice that made Beth start giggling in a "how-can-he-be-so-cute" kind of way. "Let's take this to the kitchen, we can use the table in there." Drake started out of the room, then stepped back and clapped his hands together. "C'mon already! Time is money!" 

"Uh, what about me?" asked Launchpad as Beth slipped quickly into the kitchen. 

DW looked impatient. "What do you think? You're the sidekick, you get to sit in on the gear talk!" He beckoned and then stepped into the kitchen, letting the door shut behind him. Launchpad wasn't entirely able to decide whether this was a good thing that would enable him to take his mind off of what he was going to tell Beth, or a bad thing that would keep him from figuring out what he was going to tell Beth... But in either case, he didn't have much of a choice. He decided to enjoy the reprieve, and made for the kitchen.

* * *

Beth was bouncing on her heels by the time Launchpad made it into the room. Looking at her, Drake couldn't tell what had her so wound up, but he did have the feeling he'd made it into the room in the nick of time. The atmosphere in that room had been - well, edgy was a good word for it. Drake had a feeling that he'd burst in just before Launchpad was able to spill his guts, and from the way she'd been acting previously he guessed that Beth was probably profoundly relieved to be saved. She seemed inordinately cheery, though, which might have had something to do with his own obvious excitement over the weapons she'd cooked up. 

"So?" He clasped his hands, trying to resist the urge to peer into the bag she'd set on a kitchen chair. "What do we have?" 

"Heh, well, you should calm down. Remember, I'm not that great at this so it's not going to be all zap guns and stuff," she said nervously. She clasped her own hands together and twisted a finger in the opposing fist. 

"Yeah yeah yeah," he said quickly, trying to rush her through her standard inferiority complex. "I'm sure it's all great." 

She blushed. "Well, you'll see." Reaching into the bag, she said, "I feel like Q." Drake rolled his eyes, and when Launchpad looked at him questioningly he just shook his head. Beth pulled out a number of palm-sized plastic spheres, and cleared her throat. "Okay. These..." 

"Bombs?" Drake asked, wide-eyed. Beth hadn't seemed the type to come up with something like that. 

And apparently, she wasn't. "Oh no! Gosh, no!" She picked one up and held it nervously. "No, this - well, you needed something to deal with water, so... I mean, I guess you could call it a freeze bomb?" Beth visibly mustered her confidence, and launched into an explanation. "Okay, the coating on this here - this will dissolve when it comes into contact with water. Then the compound inside, it's a liquid right now, but water will send it into gaseous form and it has an immediate thermal reaction with the hydrogen in the water. So the compound then has a semi-cryogenic effect on the area surrounding it, instantly plunging the temperature of the medium it's immersed in down to freezing point, where -" 

Drake shook his hands. "Okay, hang on. Can you explain this in five words or less?" 

She stopped short, thought for a second, and said, "It'll freeze the Liquidator." After another quick pause, she added, "Solid." 

"Hey, cool!" said Launchpad. "Uh, no pun intended." Beth shot him a grin. 

"Like liquid nitrogen?" Drake asked. 

"Yeah, basically. But not quite as cold, and a little more contained." She held out the sphere she had in her hand, cradling it gently. "I tried to design it so that it could be launched from your gas gun. But you could also throw it by hand if you needed to, and were close enough. It's not the impact, it's the immersion that does it." 

Drake nodded, and Beth went on. "So these three, the lighter ones, these are the freezing agents. Then _these_," she indicated three spheres that were nearly identical to the first three, but of a darker hue, "are different. See - they feel lighter, and that's because the contents are already in gas form. And they're kind of the opposite of the freezing agents, because contact with water will make _this_ stuff get really really hot. And then it gets so hot that it evaporates the water. So you have to be really careful and _only_ use these from a distance, or else you could get scalded by steam, but it's pretty effective." 

Nodding again, Drake realized that this was more interesting than he'd thought. "So you made portable freezers and boilers?" 

"Um..." Beth looked surprised at the comparison, but then shrugged. "I guess I did, yeah." Hesitantly, she asked, "Is that... are they okay?" 

Drake was surprised to find that, in fact, they were. "More than okay," he said, aware that he sounded impressed. "You _made_ these?" 

"Um, yes," Beth said, and from her tone he could tell she'd picked up on the note of appreciation in his voice. She fidgeted, looking both happy and terribly uncomfortable. "I'm... glad you like them." 

"Toldja she was just about a scientist," Launchpad said proudly, and Beth put her hand over her face but couldn't hide her blush or her grin. 

"Oh! I almost forgot. If those don't work..." Beth dove back into the shopping bag, and rummaged around a little bit. Drake wondered what else she had in there, since all the thermal bombs were on the table, to make it so hard for her to root through it. She came back out with a small box made of cardboard and with a paper label pasted over it. "Here. This... I thought this might help." 

She handed it to Drake, and he looked at the label. "Quick-dry cement?" 

Beth shrugged. "Last-ditch effort?" 

"Everyone needs a plan C, I guess," Drake said. He looked again at the bombs. "Well, Beth, this looks great. Good job." 

She looked elated. "I'm just, you know, happy I could help! I'd do it any time. Anything you need." She started loading the spheres back into the bag, absently, apparently not aware of what she was doing. Meanwhile, she kept rambling along happily. "I could be part of the team! The techie! Except I'm not really a techie, but I don't know what you'd call me. That's not like the sidekick, I guess, that wouldn't be the term for it and anyway I wouldn't want to supplant Launchpad, so-" 

"There could be two kinds of sidekicks, I think," Launchpad put in helpfully. 

"But it could get confusing," Beth said, pausing as she took the box of cement mix back from Drake. 

Sighing loudly, Drake took the box back from her again, and took the bag by its handles. "Just the one sidekick," he said firmly. "And this team is officially big enough as it is, for just one single superhero." 

"Well." Subdued, Beth still smiled. "Any time you need me." 

"Right." Drake shut his eyes, then opened them again. "Beth, I have to talk to you about something. LP - can you give us a minute?" 

"Oh. Sure," said Launchpad. On Drake's other side, Beth was wide-eyed, clearly taken by surprise. 

This was the moment of truth, and as Launchpad left the room, Drake knew it was not going to be easy. 


	14. Act IV, Chapter 2

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

**Act IV, chapter 2**

Beth was frozen, her eyes still wide behind her glasses, her face painted with a very light blush. Drake looked at her and winced inwardly. How was he supposed to go about this, anyway? At his gaze, she smiled slightly, clearly skittish. 

He cleared his throat. "Beth, why don't you have a seat?" 

"Oh. Okay," she said, as though the idea of sitting was a completely foreign one. She stared at the chair nearest her for a moment, again giving the impression that she had a vague idea what it was used for, but only from pictures or maybe just hearsay. Then she slipped into the chair, and looked at him expectantly, clearly trying not to look expectant. 

Drake wanted to leave the room; just give some excuse, any excuse, and postpone this. He looked at Beth again, just a quick glance this time, since looking directly at her seemed almost to hurt. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Beth..." 

"Mm-hmm?" She was still smiling. He wished she'd knock it off. 

The thing of it was that no matter how necessary this was, he didn't want to hurt her, and that was inevitable in this situation. Her vulnerability was painted all over her face. Beth, geeky transparent Beth, who didn't know when to stop talking, who could barely manage even half a lie without guilt or panic shining in her eyes, who would probably toss herself in the path of an oncoming car if it were careening towards one of her friends; Beth, who had just spent the past 24 hours slaving over weapons for him to beat a supervillain just because he'd asked, and not very nicely. 

He felt _wrong_, all of a sudden. "Beth," he said, pulling himself together, "I have two things to tell you. And I should have said both of them a long time ago." 

She shifted in her seat. "Oookaaaay..." 

"The first thing is..." With his arms behind his back, Drake walked across the room, facing away from her. "I like you. You're a big help, and I've never said it out loud, but Beth, I like you a lot." He turned back to face her, to make sure she understood. "Okay? You're a part of the team already; you're practically a part of the family. You shouldn't ever doubt that." 

The passive smile gone from her face, Beth just blinked for a moment. Then she ducked her head, smiling uncontrollably. "Well," she said quietly, "you didn't _have_ to say that. I mean, I knew-" 

"I did, I should have said it before now," Drake tried to say over her, but she wouldn't be interrupted. 

"-Nice to hear it, of course, but it's not... I mean, I knew that. Mostly." She stopped and grinned up at him, pushing her glasses back up her face. "But thanks. Really, thank you so-" 

He held up a hand, stopping her short. "The second thing..." His voice tightened, not from emotion but from the actual physical sensation that his heart was going to leap up his throat and choke him. "The second thing is that I..." 

She was still smiling. Couldn't she just stop smiling?? 

He fought the urge to put his hand over his eyes, and instead turned to look at the refrigerator. "I - Beth, I like you." 

Confused, she said, "You just said-" 

"Like. I _like_ you." He let the emphasis linger, before adding quietly, "I don't _love_ you." 

He tried not to look at her, but it happened anyway; he turned just in time to see the smile slipping from her face in degrees, bit by bit. "Oh," she said, and the word sounded funny - almost like a question, but without a real inquiry to it. 

"And... I'm never going to love you." Nothing, not even an "oh", met this. "Not like that. Not... the way you want." 

"The way I want." This was nothing like a question at all. "You knew about that." 

"I'm sorry. It was the - alien... and then you told me it wasn't true, but I could tell that it was." He waited again, for confirmation or argument. The silence stretched into something awful, so he cleared his throat to banish it. "I should have said something a long time ago, so that you could just move on," Drake said, "but I - I don't know. I guess I was being selfish. And it wasn't fair to you - as plenty of people have pointed out to me - but I promise, Beth, the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt your feelings. That didn't make it any easier." 

She was looking at her hands. Drake pulled a chair out from the table and sank into it, looking at her hands as well, then at his own. "I just... I guess it sounds stupid, but I like you too much to do that." He paused, and then sighed. "But I'm doing it anyway, I guess. If there's any way to avoid it, even I don't know what that is." 

"Thanks," Beth said, suddenly, surprisingly. Drake looked up at her, not quite able to believe what he'd heard. She was still looking at her hands, but incredibly, she was smiling again. "For... for saying all that." 

"Uh... you're welcome...?" 

She looked up, blushing, not quite meeting his gaze. Her smile was a little sad, but it was definitely _there_. "I guess I - wow. I guess I _knew_ it, you know, but somehow... somehow hearing it from you makes it real. Really gets it through to me." She gave a short, quiet laugh. "I guess I've been needing to hear that for a while now." 

"Huh," said Drake, amazed. Out of all the reactions he might have expected, this was not among them. "So you're... okay?" 

"OH, yeah," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "I mean, I'm kind of embarrassed, but..." 

"No need for that," Drake said. "After all, no one would blame you for wanting to catch the eye of the Mighty Masked Mallard." It was sort of an attempt at a joke, but it came out sounding half-sincere - probably because he honestly believed it was true - and the statement hung flatly in the air for a moment. He coughed. "Well, I'm glad... this went so well." 

"Sure. Me too," said Beth. She kept smiling, and stood up. "You know - I don't mean to come off as rude or upset or anything but I totally forgot, I left the stove on, and I really need to-" 

"Oh, sure." Drake stood up as well, and for an awkward moment they stood before one another, not moving. He thought about hugging her, and started to step forward slightly, and her posture shifted as though she was going to move into the hug, but it never materialized; instead he stuck his hand out. "Friends, right?" 

She grabbed it and squeezed, instead of the shake he'd expected. "Definitely." 

As Beth turned and walked out of the kitchen, Drake thought that the whole thing had gone much, much better than he'd expected. 

He felt, he realized, a little bit cheated.

* * *

Launchpad tapped his finger on the arm of the couch. He had no idea what he'd say. Any minute, she'd walk out of the kitchen, and - well, he just hoped that whatever came out when he opened his mouth would be the right thing. 

He sort of wished he had some flowers or something. 

The door to the kitchen swung open, and although Launchpad wasn't prone to nervousness generally, he had a sudden feeling that his bones were going to jump straight out of his skin. Beth, without an ounce of hesitation, walked across the room towards him; then she passed him and headed for the door, as if she didn't see him at all. 

"Uh - hey," he said, and she stopped. 

"Oh." The way she looked at him made him wonder if she maybe hadn't seen him, at all. "Um - right, we were going to-" 

Something was wrong. He knew it right away. "We don't have to talk now," he said carefully, and she started inching towards the door. "But... are you okay?" 

"Huh? Fine." Her face was perfectly placid, and then she broke into a huge smile. "Really! Why?" 

"You just looked -" 

She laughed. "Well, I'm fine! But yeah, I have to go. It's really - I have this appointment..." 

He nodded, as something inside him told him to get up and go to her. "No problemo. We can talk tonight, maybe." 

"Yeah," she said absently, no longer looking at him. "Maybe." 

"See ya," he said, but she was already gone. 

_Keep moving. Don't stop._

She passed Launchpad, and her head and chest started to throb as she talked to him, gave him some excuse. _Just keep going._

She was out the door, and held herself together, though as she walked - quickly, but measured, not hurrying - down the sidewalk to her house, she couldn't remember if she'd shut it behind herself after leaving. 

So stupid. So _stupid_. 

_Hold it together._ She'd get home and no one would see, no one would know that anything was wrong. No one would see that the world was ending. 

Halfway there, just past the Muddlefoots' house, Herb called to her. She did something, contorted her face into a smile, waved back, said something meaningless, kept walking. 

_A few more steps. Almost there. Just hang on._

Her hand shook as it reached for the doorknob. She breathed in deeply but the tremors just spread up her arm, through the rest of her body. She gripped the doorknob, turned it, and her chest wouldn't expand or something; she couldn't get enough air, and her face felt hot, and the door wouldn't open, and she wouldn't cry outside, she wouldn't. 

Then it opened and she stumbled inside, and although she didn't remember shutting her own door either, she did notice as she curled up against it and sobbed that it was, indeed, closed.

* * *

Drake realized belatedly that Launchpad probably had every intention of talking to Beth right there in the living room, and that left him stuck in the kitchen for who knew how long. He waited a few minutes, trying to figure out if he could scale the outside wall to his bedroom window, then decided it was his house and who cared about tact. He'd just discreetly slip into the room, and either make for the stairs or else use the transport chairs to the Tower, whichever would make him less conspicuous to Beth. 

But when he slowly poked his way through the door, Launchpad was alone in the room, looking a little morose on the couch. Ouch. He almost hated to ask. "You talk to her yet?" 

"Huh? Oh, no, she had to go." Launchpad shot a look to the door, as if trying to will her to come back. "What'd you talk to her about?" 

Drake felt it was best to play it optimistically, since the outcome was still mostly unknown. He crossed his arms and smiled. "I cleared the way for you, Romeo." 

"What?" 

"I told her in no uncertain terms that she's barking up the wrong tree. Well, not in those words. But still, no room for misunderstanding - trust me." He leaned on the back of the couch, going over the memory. For all that he'd tried to be sensitive - and felt he'd succeeded - he had still expected a much bigger reaction. 

Launchpad looked worried. "Is she okay?" 

"Actually, yeah," said Drake. "She just smiled and said she knew it anyway. So it looks like the future is wide open, LP! She'll need a shoulder to - well, maybe 'cry on' isn't the right term, since she didn't seem up to that point, but it can't hurt to be there right now." 

"Huh." Launchpad looked at the couch cushions as though something was bothering him, though Drake couldn't tell what; this seemed like great news. He kept his disappointment over the lack of drama to himself; after all, it was undeniably a _good_ thing that Beth had taken it so well. Just because he'd expected more, well... Anyway, no need to dwell on that. 

Feeling magnanimous, Drake said, "Tell you what, LP - I'm going to go to the Tower to look some more into finding the Liquidator. How about you go over now and, you know, get it all out there?" 

"Ya think I should now?" 

"Why not?" He'd just be hugely distracted if he didn't, Drake rationalized. "Tie up all the loose ends tonight." 

Launchpad stood up, and despite his evident uncertainty there was nothing in his posture to suggest that he was anything but committed to going to see Beth. "Thanks, DW," he said, making for the door. "I'll catch up with you real soon." 

It wasn't until Launchpad was long since out the door that it dawned on Drake that, if this went badly, his sidekick would be even more distracted than ever. He put his face in his hands and cursed his judgement. Oh, well; maybe things would work out. After all, Beth hadn't been as upset as he'd thought she would, so maybe he'd misread her opinions on Launchpad, too. He crossed his fingers, and headed for the Tower.

* * *

The house was closed up when Launchpad arrived, and he remembered that she'd said she had an appointment. That seemed weird, since she hadn't mentioned it before, but since all the curtains were drawn and the windows closed, Launchpad thought it looked quite possible. 

He slowed as he neared the door; if she was there, what then? She'd been so distracted when she left that, despite what DW had said, he wasn't sure everything had gone so well. This might not be the great opportunity DW had said it was. But... 

Wiping his suddenly sweaty hand on his pants, he knocked on the door. There was no answer. He stood and waited, looking around for any sign that she was there, and seeing nothing to give anything away. He couldn't convince himself to leave. Something, he felt in his bones, was not right. 

After five minutes, he knocked again, and when there was still no answer he leaned against the wall of the house and waited.

* * *

"Horace Tuo may just be St. Canard's newest hero!" 

Darkwing, waiting at the Tower for Launchpad to show up, snarled and restrained himself from throwing the remote control at the television screen. The beaming news anchor continued to deliver the story, her teeth shining brightly against the studio lights. 

"After a recent crime wave involving large surges of water that flooded out both homes and places of business, Tuo created the Tuo Alarm System to alert citizens of a threat of a break-in - especially of the watery kind!" 

"Who writes this copy?!" Darkwing demanded. He was heartily tempted to go down to the station and announce on the air who Tuo really was, just to spite them. 

The anchor went on. "With the surging sales of the Tuo System, our literal 'crime wave' went down the drain! Reports have shown that, in the past two weeks, crimes of all kind are on a sharp decline. The quickest part of the decline has corresponded directly with soaring sales of the Tuo 2.0, a full-measure security system for the whole building, be it home or business. 

"Reports today estimate that 99 of all citizens in St. Canard now own a Tuo 2.0, raising our safety levels to the highest they've been in-" 

The TV reception turned to static, effectively cutting through Darkwing's ire to recapture his attention. He frowned - it had better not be a problem with his reception, because he'd paid for the best cable service in the city up here - but his eyes widened when the picture returned, and the Liquidator now occupied the screen. 

"Does this sound familiar?" he asked, his voice friendly and more than usually bubbly. "Are you feeling financially fit? Well and well-off? Got more money than you know what to do with? Well, St. Canard, your worries are over! The Liquidator, partnering with H. Tuo and Bud Flood Industries, has a great new way to lose that extra cash!" 

"I knew it," said Darkwing, cursing his luck. Why had it taken him so long to track Licky down!? He slammed his fist against his other hand and listened to the spiel, for whatever it was worth. He'd hoped to be able to figure out the missing piece of the Liquidator's plan himself, but having it handed to him by the supervillain was a handy eventuality that seemed to come up quite often. 

The crooked businessman adopted an expression of exaggerated surprise, cocked a hand to his ear, and seemed to listen carefully. "Why, what was that? Did you all hear that sound? Was it opportunity knocking?" He shifted his expression to a beaming grin, and pointed at the camera. "Yes, and no! Many of my quicker clients will have realized that the clicking and humming that is spreading throughout the city is just the warm, cozy hum of their Tuo 2.0 starting up!" 

What? Darkwing's eyes narrowed. 

"What's that you say? Nothing to worry about?" Here the Liquidator laughed, showing that clearly, he at least didn't worry at all. "After all, the Tuo 2.0 is your total home security network! It fully equips you and your loved ones with all you need to keep anyone from entering your house... or _leaving_." A note of menace crept into the Liquidator's voice, settled there, and grew more quickly than a warren of rabbits. 

"A-HA!" yelled Darkwing, leaping to the television, and pointed an accusing finger at the tight close-up of his arch-enemy. "So THAT was your plan all along, you fluid fiend! You sell everyone a product they don't need, and then you hold them for ransom until they pay you even MORE!" He realized he was shouting at a television set, and he took a step backwards, brushing imaginary dust from his lapels. "Where the heck is my sidekick?" he muttered. 

On the television, the Liquidator's pirated broadcast continued, confirming what Darkwing had just figured out. "Act now, St. Canard, and YOU, too, can keep your home and loved ones from being vaporized by the weaponry you installed in your houses! Yes, the low low price of a mere $100 billion can _save your lives!_ And that's not all - pay in the next 120 minutes, and you'll even get to see the sunlight again! After all, we all do dumb things... getting in the way of The Liquidator's best interests doesn't have to be one of them!" 


	15. Act IV, Chapter 3

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

_A/N: Okay, penultimate chapter here! Um, I think anyway. I haven't finished the final chapter and I don't know how long it'll be. But it should be only one chapter. Anyway, this is just a note to say that the events in this chapter now make a rewrite of certain parts in "The House on Avian Way" a necessity. Had I but known! Anyway, I'll be doing that eventually, but finishing this fic is going to be my accomplishment for this year. :)_

* * *

**Act IV, chapter 3**

He wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there, but it felt like a while. Maybe not a half an hour yet, but it might be close. Launchpad sighed; he'd give it one more try and then he was really going to have to go help DW, since he'd promised. He knocked again, and waited. 

After a long moment of silence, there was a quiet scuffling sound at the door, and it opened a crack. Beth peeked out at him; he could only tell it was her because it was her house, and because he recognized the frame of the one lense he could see of her glasses. "Beth?" he said, trying to sound casual. 

She cleared her throat, and the door opened a tiny bit more. He could see about half of her face now. It was puffy from tears. "Hey," she said in a shaky voice. She didn't look at him. "Sorry, were you here long? I was, um..." She trailed off, and then changed the destination of her sentence. "I didn't hear you." 

"Are you okay?" he asked bluntly. There really wasn't anything else he could do. 

She laughed, a harsh sound. "I'm fine!" When he didn't say anything in response, she said, "Really. I'm just watching a sad movie." 

He looked past her, into the house; the room was mostly dark, and the TV was off. When he looked into her face again, she met his gaze for an instant, and her eyes were full of guilt. Then she looked away, her face crumpling, and she covered her face with her hand and took a deep breath. 

Launchpad moved almost entirely on instinct. "Can I come in?" he asked, not consciously aware that he was bracing his arm against the door in case she tried to shut him out. 

To his relief, she nodded, stepping away from the door and letting him inside. She walked away aimlessly as he entered and so he shut the door gently and stood at the threshold, not sure how to proceed. Beth didn't look at him, but sank onto the couch quietly, her face cast towards the ground. 

"What... what happened?" he asked quietly. 

She took off her glasses and set them on the coffee table, then brought her hands to her eyes and wiped them, sniffling. In a muted tone she said, "Nothing. I'm just an idiot." 

"That's not true." He took a few steps toward her; all he wanted was to hold her, to get her to stop crying, but he felt frozen. "I know that's not true. Did... was it DW?" After a moment, she nodded tensely. 

Launchpad let the silence stretch out again, considering what else to ask. He decided that he couldn't ask what was said; if she wanted to tell him, she would. He tried, "He said you didn't seem that upset." 

She let out a harsh breath, one with a humourless chuckle buried in it somewhere, and pressed the heel of her hand to her left eye. "Good," she said roughly, in a louder voice. "At least that went right." 

"Why..." 

"Because - because he _knew_, Launchpad, everyone knew but I didn't think _he_ knew, and..." Her voice trembling, she began to stutter. "I w-was... I just f-felt so stupid, and, and he t-told me that w-we were fr-friends and I really want to b-be friends, but-" Her voice had risen in pitch, and here it broke. "B-but I love him," she said raggedly. 

He stepped to the couch, and sat down gently next to her, then put his hand softly on her shoulder and patted her there. She drew away a little, and he stopped. Quelling her sobs, she shook her head. 

"Okay," he said quietly, and let her catch her breath. After a moment, he said, "It doesn't make you stupid, just to love someone." 

She sniffled again, and picked up her glasses between two fingers. Twirling them thoughtlessly, she shook her head a second time. "Th-the thing is, I knew it was hopeless. I kn-knew... I knew he'd never l-love me, Launchpad, b-but I still let myself kind of... think..." Her throat closed up again. She took a deep breath. "I hate feeling this way." 

"I know, it stinks," he said sympathetically. 

"Love stinks," she spat, sounding so unlike herself that he was momentarily taken aback. 

"Well..." 

"It _stinks_," she repeated, and slapped her glasses back down on the table. "I'm never going through this again, EVER." 

"What do you mean?" 

With a big sniffle, she looked up at him, and there was such a mix of pain and anger and misery in her face that just couldn't overcome her innate harmlessness that it almost made him smile. "I mean," she said firmly, although her sinuses sounded rather stuffed up, "that I am through with love. Pfft, the end, I'm never falling in love again." 

Launchpad sat forward, perturbed. "That doesn't sound good." 

Beth shrugged. "I don't care how it sounds." 

"Beth, I know you're upset an' all, but I dunno if that's the way to get through this." 

She looked at her lap, but her voice was still firm. "You said it yourself," she said, "love stinks." 

"Actually, _you_ said-" 

"Whatever!" She looked up at him fiercely. "Love is just pain - all my life, it's been nothing but pain and misery, and I'm just sick of it! I'm sick of falling for men that I don't stand a chance with!" 

"Well," Launchpad said carefully, "what if someone fell in love with you?" 

Beth cast her eyes downward again, and ran her fingers along the side seams of her jeans. She seemed to desperately need something to do with her hands. "Then," she said quietly, "that person is a fool." 

"But-" 

"And I'd hate myself for making them feel the way I feel right now," she added, the pitch rising in her voice that suggested she was about to start crying again. 

He was going to answer, he really was, although he had no idea what he was going to say; but it didn't matter, because the phone rang then, and Launchpad suddenly remembered that DW was waiting for him. The phone rang a second time, and then a third, and it dawned on him belatedly that Beth probably wasn't planning on answering it. 

"Uh, you want me to get that...?" he asked, and she nodded at her lap. He stood, and made it to the phone by the fifth ring. It wasn't much of a surprise to hear DW's voice, more than a little on edge, when he answered the phone. 

"Are you going to be much longer?" Darkwing asked tensely. "I mean, far be it from me to rush you or anything, but have you heard what's going on out there??" 

He hadn't, of course, but didn't mention it. "Uh, actually..." Shooting a glance at Beth, he lowered his voice. "I was kinda wondering if maybe, uh, maybe I could take tonight off." 

Darkwing clearly wasn't hot on the idea. "Hey, hey, you do that on your own time, LP!" he snapped. 

Launchpad blushed. "It's important," he said, even more quietly. He kept an eye on Beth, who was currently picking at the fringe on a pillow and looking almost sick with misery. 

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, and then Darkwing spoke, almost as quietly as Launchpad had. "Is she okay?" 

"Oh, she's fine," Launchpad answered quickly. Beth looked up at him, her eyes liquid but her expression grateful. "We just wanted to, uh, watch a couple of movies tonight." 

Either DW bought it, or he realized there was a lot more that wasn't being said. "Huh. Okay." He could hear DW push out a tense breath, but then he said, "Fine, then. I think I can handle this on my own. Enjoy yourself, LP, if that's how it's going to be." 

"Yeah. I dunno." 

Another pause, and then Darkwing said, "Right. Well, I'll be fine. See you later." 

"See ya." Darkwing was using the tone of voice where even the phrase "good luck" would be met with a lecture on how _luck_ had nothing to do with it, and he often worked at his best when alone, so Launchpad didn't make the offering. He just hung up the phone, and stared at the handle for a moment, trying to figure out what to do.

* * *

Darkwing hung up the phone and stared at the receiver without seeing it. Well, simply put: as heartless as it seemed, he couldn't afford to care about Beth right now. There wasn't time. A madman had the city in his clutches, and with Launchpad indisposed, Darkwing and only Darkwing was the last hope left to free the people and bring evil to justice. 

His chest expanded with excitement; this was a _perfect_ way to cap off the week. 

Faintly grateful that Gosalyn was safe at home and hadn't been visiting the Muddlefoots when the Liquidator made his move, Darkwing started for the Ratcatcher, then doubled back towards the computer. He still didn't know where to look. But shouldn't he load up the Ratcatcher now, so that he'd be ready to just jump on and go? He started back towards the cycle, then stopped and shook his head. 

Okay. One thing at a time. Load the weapons first. 

He took a few moments to separate them, make sure he knew what was what, and loaded the first freeze bomb into his gas gun. When the thought of Beth popped into his head, he pushed her right out again. Anything else he'd need? No point in bringing reloads of gas cartridges; those didn't impact Licky anyway. Okay, weapons taken care of; now to play a hunch. 

He dashed to the computer and poked at a few buttons, calling up the map of St Canard. The file folder with Horace Tuo's contact information was still at hand; he tapped in the address listed as Tuo's physical location, and got the same empty lot Launchpad had mentioned. Next, he found the deli whose fax machine the Liquidator had been using. As he'd expected, it was only about a block away. 

Darkwing congratulated himself on his instinct. The location was all he needed; if Licky wasn't hiding out either on or just under that empty lot, he was somewhere else in the nearby neighbourhood. 

He had roughly one and three quarter hours to find and defeat the Liquidator. It was time to move.

* * *

Launchpad didn't seem to understand. It wasn't, Beth felt, too big of a surprise. Someone like him probably just COULDN'T understand, not having experienced the repeated futility of her lovelife. "Lovelife" - there was a term that, in itself, made her feel like laughing over the total misnomer. There had been no love in her life, and by this point, she knew there never would be. 

"I _am_ thinking it through," she said, aware that her voice sounded thick because her sinuses were nearly plugged. "I mean, I already have thought it through. A lot. I've had _years_ to think about this, believe me." He didn't really think that Drake was the first time this had happened, did he? Drake was just the latest in a long string of men who didn't know she existed, but Beth couldn't bring herself to mention that. She felt it was obvious enough, anyway. 

"But..." Launchpad sat back down beside her, and put his hand gently on her shoulder again. His touch was so tentative that she felt guilty for pulling away before, and even wondered why she had. She leaned a little closer to him, so he rubbed her shirt lightly, and it really was comforting. 

Except that, in some way, she didn't want to be comforted. Heaving a ragged sigh, she said, "But what?" 

His hand stilled, but stayed on her arm. "But... That's not fair to you. You don't want to be alone forever, not really. You might feel that way now, but you won't always." 

She shrugged listlessly. "Since when has it mattered what I want?" 

"Well, 'cause -" He stopped again. She thought he was trying very hard to find the right kinds of words to convey something. "You shouldn't do something you know will make you unhappy." 

"Oh, Launchpad," she said, and laughed bitterly. She wasn't laughing at him - but he was so naive. He really couldn't understand it, could he? She tried to explain. "I can't do anything to try to make myself happy, either," she said softly. 

"You can give yourself some time," he said, echoing her tone, "an' try again, with someone new. Maybe... maybe someone's just around the corner." 

He really was an optimist. Beth's version of optimism, in this situation, was assuming that in a few months she wouldn't still feel like crawling under a rock and watching everyone's ankles pass by for the rest of her life. 

Another wave of tears crept up on her, one she hadn't seen coming, and she shut her eyes and pressed her mouth shut tightly, trying to fight it back down. "There isn't," she said, shortly. "I've... been th-through this before." Before he could say anything else, another platitude she couldn't bear to hear, she added, "And I've seen people who ARE in relationships, and they hurt too, and I'm s-sick of hurting and I j-just want this to b-be, to be over." So the tears slipped out, naturally, and she put her hands to her face again while Launchpad patted her back. 

"Look," he said quietly, when she was sniffling and wiping her eyes dry again, "I think you just need to find the right person. I think there's someone out there who wants to take care of you, an' who's gonna put you first. You'll find somebody who wants the same things you want, who just wants to come home to you." 

She laughed again, despite herself. "Oh, yeah," she said, bitterness creeping into her voice, "like who?" 

Immediately, she wished she hadn't said that. Because she remembered too late what they'd been about to talk about, and she finally understood what he was saying, and all she could do was wish she could take it back. She couldn't put her hands over his mouth, so she put them over her own instead. 

Launchpad put his hands on his knees and looked at his lap, and said, "Well... like me." 

"Oh," Beth said in a whisper. She hadn't meant to make a noise. Launchpad looked into her face, and their eyes met for a second before she looked down. Not now. Oh, this was way too much, she couldn't deal with this now. Her throat closed up again, and she bent over, her head lowering towards her feet. "Ohhhhh. Oh, God." 

She couldn't see him sitting next to her, but she didn't feel any movement coming from him. And she started crying again, even though she'd been sure after the last one that she'd cried all the tears she had, but these were different. "I'm sorry," she said into her hands, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." 

"Hey," he said, and his arm was around her shoulder, pulling her back up into a sitting position. "That's okay. Don't do that. It's okay. Beth, please don't cry like that." 

This only made her cry harder. She kept her face hidden. 

"Do you want me to go?" he asked gently. 

She gave a loud sniffle, and felt ridiculously embarrassed. "Y-you can... i-if yuh-you want," she managed. 

He paused. "Do _you_ want me to?" 

She shook her head, and meant it. 

After looking around, patting his pockets - apparently for a tissue - and coming up empty, he handed her the end of his scarf. Beth lowered her hands slowly, one at a time, and then wiped her eyes with it. The tears weren't done yet, however; they poured steadily on, and continued when Launchpad put his other arm around her and pulled her closer, and when she pressed her face into the fabric of his jacket and sobbed.

* * *

The sewers were about what you'd expect from sewers: dark, dank, malodorous, with a constant background track of dripping water. Darkwing was seriously let down, not because they were worse-than-average sewers, but because he'd been counting on finding immediate evidence of the Liquidator's use of them as a hideout. But so far, nothing... 

Or, strike that. Maybe not nothing; his flashlight fell on a door which bore a newish-looking sign - "newish" being defined by the still-tiny amount of grime coating it - that read "Authorized Personnel Only: Keep Out!" 

Clearly, it was the entrance to Licky's own lair, cleverly disguised as a maintenance shaft. Darkwing reached for his gas gun, made sure he was ready, and kicked at the door. He refused to even momentarily entertain the crushingly disappointing idea that it could actually be just a maintenance shaft. 


	16. Act IV, Chapter 4

**Darkwing Duck: High, Dry, and Flooded**

* * *

_A/N: OMG it's done. I haven't beta-read this or anything; I just finished it moments ago and I just wanted to get it OUT here since it's been so long. So if there are any glaring errors, I'm really sorry, hopefully I'll fix 'em later!_

* * *

**Act IV, chapter 4**

"I have ANOTHER run in my nylons." 

"Ew, I hate that! You want my nail polish?" 

"No, it's too late for that. Ugh, I hate it down here, everything's moldy and there are all these nails I don't see until it's too late!" 

"The other day I swear I saw a cockroach the size of Mickey." 

"EEK!" 

"Mickey your chihuahua?!" 

"Yep. I swear." 

"Oh, that is SO gross!" 

"I don't know what he's thinking this time. We totally have enough money to buy a studio." 

"I knooooow, but when I tried to ask him he was just all 'a penny saved is a penny earned,' blah blah blah, and then something about shiny teeth." 

"Maybe he could give US a few more pennies." 

"Do you guys think maybe if we all went to see him together, we could ask-" 

There was a crash, and the door to their dressing room flew open. All three girls screamed, and despite being fully clad in their Tuo alarm costumes they all grabbed for anything nearby to cover themselves. 

The man standing in the doorway pointed a gun at them, and they all screamed even louder, but then he stopped and looked confused. 

"This... isn't a hideout, is it." 

It was that Darkwing guy. None of the girls felt like explaining his mistake to him. One of them picked up a paperweight from the bureau that held their mirror, and flung it at his head. It went too high, and only knocked his hat off his head, but as he turned to pick it up they had the time to take off running, screaming for their boss.

* * *

That scene had been positively surreal. Darkwing, despite his readiness for almost any situation, had to take a moment to recover from the unexpected sight of a trio of leggy alarm systems screaming and running for cover. 

His moment of hesitation cost him, as a voice behind him cut through his befuddlement, and Darkwing realized he'd lost the element of surprise. 

"Has this ever happened to you?" the Liquidator asked from behind him, his voice oozing liquid insincerity. "You knock yourself out, day after day, trying to fight the good fight. But when one immensely powerful supervillain comes along, you're wiped off your feet! Well, now the Liquidator has the perfect soluation: Give up now!" 

Darkwing whirled about, his previously-forgotten gas gun now at the ready, but his foe was too quick for him. A moat of sorts had already begun to form around him, unnoticed; as he spun, the water sprang up around him, seeming as solid as dancing walls, radiating a familiar heat. 

"This trick again, Licky?" Darkwing called, over the quiet rushing of the boiling water that now surrounded him. "They say repetition is the first sign of failure for an idea man." 

"Typical of someone not in the business," the Liquidator tsked smoothly, sliding forward. "You're confusing the repetition of stale ideas with the maximization of results! Or in other words -" He stopped, and cocked his head as if considering something, then said, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." 

Darkwing didn't answer. Experience had told him that this water would be too hot to try to pass through on his own; his own senses reaffirmed this, as the water was close enough to condense slightly on his feathers and costume. 

Of course, he knew perfectly well he didn't have to say a word; the Liquidator, like all of his enemies, was the type who relished his gloating time. True to form, the villain said smugly, "You can't truly think you haven't been expected. In fact, the schedule _I_ drew up had you coming last night." 

"It was my poker night," Darkwing snapped. He had about two and a half feet between himself and the walls of water; Beth had said these freeze bombs were good at both close and long range, but she hadn't said anything about how they'd work on water above room temperature. "But I'm glad to hear your faith in me hasn't been shaken, Licky. I knew all along all your talk of 'turning over a new leaf' was baloney, too." 

"Darkwing, you wound me. Here at Tuo Enterprises and B.F. Industries, we make money the old-fashioned way!" 

"You steal it," Darkwing finished for him. 

The Liquidator scoffed. "Words like 'steal' get low scores in focus groups. This is just a simple 'cost of living' tax." 

Darkwing snorted. "Nice. That sounds completely legitimate." 

"The girls in marketing thought so," the Liquidator said amicably. 

"So how'd you manage to set all the 2.0s off from here at the same time? Couldn't have been an internal timer, could it?" 

"Oh, mercy no," the Liquidator said, chuckling. "Market research shows that best results come by striking when product saturation is at its highest peak." 

"So you couldn't just pick a random day. You had to wait until you'd sold your way into all the houses in the city." 

"Obviously." 

"Uh-huh," said Darkwing. This wasn't news, and he didn't have much patience for it. "What, then? A remote control?" 

The Liquidator laughed again. "You're asking because you think you're going to get out of here," he said tauntingly. "I'm going to answer you because I know you're not." The walls of water edged in, shaving about 6 inches off of the space between them and Darkwing. The vigilante swallowed nervously. Continuing as if nothing had happened, the Liquidator said, "It's much better than a remote control. It's easy to use and fun to operate! I have a full command center - oh, not in this section of the lair, of course. Only a careless fool would try to taunt _you_ near the important machinery." 

"Thanks for the compliment," Darkwing answered. That seemed like enough information; it would have to be, because the walls of water were closing in again, slowly but surely. He was about to run out of time. 

He raised the gas gun and fired. 

The effect was dramatic, and nearly instantaneous. The heat that had been pressing in on him dimmed, just slightly at first, then seemed to disappear almost like a vacuum to be replaced by a whoosh of cold. The water crackled as it froze, ice spreading in a concentric pattern around the walls that surrounded him, and in moments he was held in a steaming cylinder of ice. 

Darkwing stepped backward until his back was up against the far curve of ice, and kicked with all his strength at the ice facing him. It smashed, looking satisfyingly dramatic, and he took off running in the direction the dancing girls had gone. The Liquidator looked surprised as he dashed past, and wasted a few moments just gaping. Darkwing hoped to be able to take advantage of those moments, but unfortunately he had nothing to work with except the seat of his pants. 

What should come first: find the machine controlling the 2.0s, or take out the Liquidator? He checked his watch as he ran - the halls were filled with track lighting, so there was no longer an issue of visibility - and found he had only just over 30 minutes left to save the city. He'd been wandering in the sewers for longer than he'd thought. 

With no idea where he was going, he took a left turn at random and fumbled within his cape for another bomb. He came up with a steam bomb this time. Well, the freeze bomb had been a big success; he could try holing up and waiting for the Liquidator to find him, and then take him out from a distance, assuming this kind worked as well as the other. 

He set himself up against a corner that faced the entrance through which he'd just run, and held the gas gun at the ready. As the Liquidator slid into the room, a living wave in the approximate shape of a canid, Darkwing fired. 

The supervillain dodged, bending his body in a graceful curve away from the projectile. The bomb hit the wall and bounced away into the corner, and as Darkwing cursed and grabbed within his cape for another shot, the Liquidator looked at the little sphere he'd evaded apparently on instinct. He chuckled. "What makes the melon ball bounce?" he asked, apparently to himself, and shot an arm over to the sphere. He picked it up in one hand, and turned to Darkwing. "And here I thought tricks were just for kids!" 

He frowned, however, as the bomb fell to the floor. A hissing had begun, and it appeared to be originating from the end of his arm. The Liquidator brought his arm in front of his face, and stared at where his hand had been; instead, there was a puff of steam. The rest of his arm was dwindling, vanishing into steam, and the effect was crawling up his body. He turned an angry eye to Darkwing, who stood grinning triumphantly, pressed against the wall. 

"This isn't over," he snarled, and leaped at Darkwing. The vigilante flinched, but by the time his foe reached him, there was nothing left but a cloud of steam. It burst in his face, uncomfortably hot for a moment before dispersing, leaving him and the wall behind him drenched with condensation. 

Darkwing let out a breath in relief, and slumped against the wall. Perfect. He still had a half an hour to find and shut off the machine threatening the city. And he owed Beth - well, something. 

Wringing out his cape, he stepped back into the room and tried to figure out which way to go. He was dripping - excessively, it seemed, worse than if he'd stepped into a sauna - but it wasn't as if you could expect an encounter with the Liquidator not to be extremely wet. He took his hat off, shook it out, and replaced it before deciding on a corridor leading off to the left. 

Unnoticed behind him, the puddle he'd wrung out of his costume began to coalesce. 

He'd been wandering for a while, in and out of well-lit areas, and hadn't come across anything; Darkwing started to accept that he had no idea where to look, and this might take a bit longer than he'd hoped. His spirits sank further when a familiar voice sounded behind him. 

"All across America," it announced, "millions want to know: how many licks does it take to de-liquidate the Liquidator?" 

Darkwing turned quickly, to find his nemesis growing behind him. As he watched, tiny streams flowed down the passageway and joined in the lengthening canid-shaped body of water that was staring him down. 

"The answer? The world may never know," said the Liquidator. His eyes narrowed. "Darkwing Duck: Ask YOUR doctor about what kind of vengeance the Liquidator is going to wreak on you now that you've made him mad!" 

A rumbling gave warning to the form that the Liquidator's wrath was taking, just moments before the walls surrounding Darkwing began to crack and water began to pour steadily into the hallway. 

Darkwing turned and ran, with the Liquidator's laughter following at his heels, just barely outpacing the tidal waves that he could feel forming behind him. He turned down the halls at random, cursing himself for forgetting that evaporation wasn't a good option against the Liquidator. He'd tried it before; sentient water just became sentient steam until it condensed back into liquid form. 

He wished there were a few more doors down in these halls; his legs would only keep him ahead of the rushing water for so long. The noise was becoming thunderous; he chanced a look back and nearly bit his tongue in two - the wall of water was closing in fast. Fumbling in the pocket of his cape, he closed his fingers around what he hoped was another freeze bomb, and flung it over his shoulder as he ran. 

The change in the air was instant, and the sudden cessation of the water's roar was only a moment behind it. Darkwing dared to slow down and check over his shoulder again, but as his breath became a fog before him he already knew that the freeze bomb had worked. 

Nevertheless, the giant sheet of ice that was reaching towards him was still a breathtaking sight. He sighed, allowing himself a moment to rest, a moment of relief as he considered the fact that the curving, grasping top of the water would likely have had him within seconds if the bomb hadn't worked. 

A distant rumbling told him that Licky hadn't given up, and despite its size this wave clearly didn't represent the whole of the water available to use against him. He also had only one freeze bomb left, so he had to hang on to it carefully. He slipped away again, turning along corners, hoping he'd know what he was looking for when he saw it. 

He darted around another turn and found a narrow hallway without any alcoves along the walls; the hall ended in a single door. The sheer drama of the set-up made Darkwing certain that he was within sight of his goal. 

Stepping into the room, Darkwing let out a low whistle. He'd been right: he knew it when he saw it. This hulking piece of machinery, covered in blinking lights, was undoubtedly the slave device that Licky was using to control all the 2.0s. He approached it, looking it over carefully, and wondered why these things never came with an "off" switch. 

There was no noise to alert him - at least, not that he noticed - before the wave swept him off his feet, slamming him into a nearby wall. Dazed, Darkwing shook his head, trying to figure out if his head was currently above water or not; during his pause, the Liquidator's voice came to his ears, as gloating as ever. "Away go troubles down the drain!" he said as he slid into the room. 

Darkwing, determining that the off-balance feeling he was experiencing was a trick in his head and not a result of being submerged, put a hand against the nearest wall. "I think you've forgotten who you're dealing with," he said, trying to sound steadier than he felt. "I don't flush so easily." 

"Clogs like you are tricky business," agreed the Liquidator. He raised his arms. "But the Liquidator has _double the strength_ of Brand X!" 

"Wait!" yelped Darkwing frantically, with little on his mind beyond fending off another drenching. Looking amused at the desperation in his tone, the Liquidator paused and waited. Darkwing cleared his throat. "I just didn't think you'd want to fight in here, so close to the - y'know." He shrugged, and pointed a thumb at the machine in the corner. 

"That?" said the Liquidator. He smiled. "You don't think I'd come up with something that important and forget to make it waterproof, do you?" 

"Well, no, it's not that," said Darkwing. "I just mean, what if something happened to it?" 

"Like what?" 

Darkwing appeared to think. "Oh, well, I don't know... maybe like... _this_!" He leapt across the room, landed on the console, and started pressing buttons at random. 

Another wave swept him away, and he was pretty sure he slammed into the ceiling this time before hitting the ground. The Liquidator's laughter cut through him as he tried again to shake off his disorientation after landing. "_That_?" asked the Liquidator? "_That_ won't do a thing! Our company makes all its products totally tamper-proof! Only the Liquidator knows the code to make any changes!" 

"Laugh all you want," said Darkwing, "but this is one code I'm going to crack!" 

"You'll crack _something_ alright," said the Liquidator menacingly. "What will you do, Darkwing? You can't reprogram it, you can't shut it off, you can't even unplug it. And since the girls haven't mentioned anything about $100 billion showing up on our doorstep... it looks like you've only got twelve minutes before the 2.0s start _really_ heating things up!"

* * *

Now that he thought about it, maybe he _had_ gone overboard on the whole "home safety system". Although Herb firmly believed in "only the best" for his family, under the current circumstances he had to admit that, if he'd been willing to live without the Tuo 2.0, his family might actually be in less danger than it was. 

Herb crouched behind his trusty sofa and tried to think. They'd gone for all the options, including the extras; once the system had activated, the bars had come down on the windows and the steel slab had shut down at the front and back doors. 

It was the laser cannons, though, that he was really regretting at the moment. 

At least there wasn't one behind the couch; that was a silver lining, because it gave them all a nice little hidey-hole for the time being. Too bad the one facing the front door also had a good view of the corridor towards their bedrooms - but then again, there were lasers in both the boys' rooms, not to mention the two that were in his and Binkie's own room. 

Well, at least they had the couch. 

He took another quick head count, and came up again with three; plus one for himself, and the whole family was counted for. 

"Do you think it might have shut off by now, Herb?" said Binkie in a loud whisper at his shoulder. 

On his other side, Tank said, "Hey Honkbrain, go check and see." He poked at his younger brother, who was curled up into the back of the sofa as far as he could get. 

"Now Tank," Herb said sternly, "this is no time ta tease your brother. We got a little sitchy-ation here." He leaned as close as he dared to his youngest boy, and said gently, "Son, I need ya to just reach around the arm'a the couch there an' grab another pillow or two, okay?" 

Honker looked pained. "Um, but Dad... the lasers are m-motion activated, and -" 

"Honker," said Herb, using his Family Authority voice, "we all need to pitch in an' help out here, an' you're the closest to the end of the couch right now. Once ya get a pillow, I'll hold it up an' see if it gets shot at or not." Honker shot a look to his mother, and Herb silently hoped she would back him up. 

"Mind your father, dear," Binkie said distantly, clutching at her husband's shirt. 

Honker took a deep breath and slowly, slowly, began to reach up the side of the couch. Nearby, Tank chuckled low in his throat. He leaned forward as well, and although Herb couldn't figure out how he planned on helping, it warmed him to see the boys taking care of each other. Tank rose up, looking almost unaware of what he was doing, and peered over the top of the couch as Honker slid his hand farther along. 

There was a zap. There was a yell. Smoke filled the room again, as did the smell of singed feathers. 

Honker darted back around the side of the couch to safety, clutching a frilled, heart-shaped pillow and breathing quickly. Next to him, Tank sat down sharply, patting at a smoking hole in his forelock and whimpering. 

"Way ta go, boys!" Herb cheered them, grinning proudly. "Great job distractin' that laser, Tank! An' now we know it's still workin'!" 

Tank looked at his brother and made a noise that was a sort of half-growl, half-sob. Honker, meanwhile, said nothing at all; but he seemed to be smiling ever so slightly as he clutched at the pillow.

* * *

The slave device controlling the Tuo 2.0s was dripping. Darkwing, on the other hand, felt rather like he had been physically transformed into a body of water himself. He tossed his hat to the side of the room; it made a distinct "splop" noise and stuck where it hit the wall. 

There was only one way to do this, Darkwing saw. He was going to have to get the Liquidator mad. 

"All this planning," said Darkwing - "sputtered" might actually be a better term for it, but he hoped no one noticed - "and you're still too short-sighted to see that you were never going to get any money, anyway." 

The Liquidator frowned, and clenched his fists. Darkwing winced, but no blow came this time. Instead, his foe began, "In a nation-wide taste test, more people preferred-" 

"Maybe instead of a taste test next time, Licky, you should just hire someone who'll remind you that _nobody can fork over $100 billion when they're all stuck inside!_" 

It took a moment to sink in, but once it did, the Liquidator was - for once - completely without reply. He growled, and raised his arms. 

Darkwing reached into the pocket of his cape for his last freeze bomb. He could see the jet of water coming - it felt like everything about him was too slow, and there was no way he'd be able to get out of the way in time... 

He dodged, barely, and tossed the freeze bomb into the path of the water jet. It struck where he'd been standing, moments ago: right up against the Liquidator's machine. 

As before, the air went cold and there was an audible crackling sound as the water rapidly froze solid. This time, however, the crackling got louder; within seconds it was augmented with a creaking, a synthetic groaning that was identifiable, to those who knew what to listen for, as the sound of metal being pulled apart. 

The Liquidator noticed it a few moments too late. Darkwing, crouching on his knees after leaping out of the way of the water projectile, took advantage of the Liquidator's distraction to stand and catch his breath - and recover his hat - as the ice expanded within the cracks of the machine, tearing it into a misshapen mess. 

It wasn't until the machine started sparking that the Liquidator moved again. He slowly turned his head, meeting Darkwing's gaze for a moment, his expression curiously blank until it resolved itself into one of deep fury. 

Darkwing, as prepared for this as he could be, made a run for it.

* * *

Despite all the planning he'd done, this whole evening seemed to have gone almost entirely by the seat of his pants. As frustrating as that was, Darkwing still found it oddly invigorating. It was nice to know, at least, that he was still stupefyingly brilliant at making it up as he went; after all these years in the business, he still hadn't fallen into a rut. 

With this in mind, keeping ahead of the Liquidator's mobile expressions of rage wasn't quite as much of a chore as it could have been, although he was really only just _barely_ keeping ahead. But it could have been worse. For all that he'd been tossed around this evening, he didn't really feel bruised, and... well... 

Okay, he'd admit it. He was enjoying himself. 

That didn't answer the question, of course, of how exactly he was going to _defeat_ Licky. At the moment he was too much on the retreat to come up with a good plan, but there wasn't likely to be much of a reprieve on that one. He'd better get thinking. 

Noting a door framing one of the halls he turned into, he slammed it shut as he ran. A heavy thud told him that the obstruction had held; a moment later, a resounding crash was enough to assure him that the Liquidator's water jets had taken care of the obstacle. 

He took another turn at random, and wished the sewers were a little more well-marked. So far he'd thought three or four times that he'd made it into an area he'd been in before, but nothing had gelled into real recognition. 

A yank on his cape jerked him harshly back; one of the waves chasing him had sprouted a hand, and apparently a wrist as well, since it now spun him a few times and then sent him flying down the hallway, back the way he'd come. Cursing, Darkwing got to his feet and tried to make it past the watery sentry. 

The hand blocked his path. He tried dodging to the left and then, at the last moment, feinting to the right, but it was no use; the water hand was really pretty clever considering it was a liquid representation of a disembodied appendage. 

Over, around, or... 

Darkwing let his arms hang at his sides, and slumped his shoulders slightly in what he hoped was the right kind of representation of giving up. He took a few steps back, gauging the dimensions of the thing as he did. Now that it wasn't chasing him, all its mass was in the shape of the hand, which easily was taller than he was. 

He held his hand up in return, palm facing the ersatz one that was blocking him. After a moment, he waved. The hand waved back. 

Bracing himself, he sprinted at top speed, and covered his face with his arm as he jumped right through the watery hand that guarded him. It burst apart, and he didn't waste time looking after himself to see if it was reforming and giving chase. Best to just assume the affirmative this time. 

That had probably cost him nearly all the lead time he'd had. He couldn't afford another blockade like that; grabbing in his cape pocket, he pulled out one of the remaining heat bombs, and tossed it over his shoulder. No time to see if it worked; he had to keep going now, or he'd lose his lead entirely. 

A few feet later, he pulled out the last bomb and tossed it, as well. 

His chest felt like it was on fire by the time he reached the next door. It was closed; seemed like a good bet, he figured, so he pulled it open, darted through, and then slammed it shut again, allowing himself a few moments to lean on it. 

The lighting was different in here, he noted, just before the sound of screaming filled the air. 

Again. 

The same screams as when he'd arrived, in fact. He wiped sweat out of his eyes and looked around, but only had time to take in the mirrors and robes before a chair came flying at his head. He ducked, only to be hit by a half-filled bottle of "Bud Flood" water. 

"GET _OUT_ of here!" shrieked one of the alarm girls. Close by, another one was scrambling for something else to throw. 

Darkwing held up his hands. "Ladies! Please! Hey - OW! Don't throw THAT-" He ducked again, edging along the walls of the room towards the door that had to be the exit. 

He narrowly made it out, and found himself in the dark corridor that had led him to the Liquidator's hideout in the first place. He set off down the dark hallway as quickly as he dared to move, struggling to find his flashlight among the other things he had hidden on his person; in the process, his hand closed around the box of quick-dry cement that Beth had given him as a backup plan. Once he'd found the flashlight and switched it on, he drew out the box and squinted at it, considering. 

Nah. He'd done that one before, anyway. 

He tossed it over his shoulder and made a quick path through the sewer passageway.

* * *

The air inside the sewer hadn't been so bad. The air outside it, on the other hand, was sweeter than Darkwing remembered. It felt like it had been days since he'd been out in the open air, rather than just over an hour. 

The newly-rescued city didn't seem to have fully accepted the fact that they had regained their freedom; aside from Darkwing, no one was out on the street, and most of the buildings running up and down the intersection were dark. His eye fell on one of the stores, and a plan began to take shape in his head. 

Darkwing stood, relishing the quiet and peace, and waited. 

It didn't last long - not the waiting, or the peace and quiet. Within a moment or two, the street began to shake like an earthquake was hitting it. The vibrations increased, until they couldn't increase any further: then the damage started. 

Manhole covers flew off in all directions, shattering windows. The nearby fire hydrant exploded into activity, gushing its contents onto the street and into the sky. Even pipes began to twist below the pavement; Darkwing hoped they held, but then again if they didn't, it _was_ about time the city poneyed up to update its plumbing system in the downtown area... 

The rumblings in the street began to quiet, but the gush from the fire hydrant spouted even higher and as it rained down it took a shape: arms, a head, and finally legs emerged. These last stepped elegantly to the pavement, as though poured from a chalice. 

"Pretty good entrance," said Darkwing, crossing his arms. "Been taking lessons?" 

The Liquidator ignored his question. "This is your brain," he said, gesturing towards the window of a sporting goods store across the street. "This is your brain after ruining the Liquidator's plans." He clenched his fist, and the jets of water still pumping out of the nearby hydrant both changed directions and shot across the road, shattering the store window. The Liquidator grinned widely. "Any questions?" 

"Just one. Did you make enough off of the Tuo scam to cover all of this, or are you going to go into debt once you're in prison?" 

He ducked, but too late; although they were expected, the twin jets of water hit him full-force on his left, knocking him to the side. It felt like a two-by-four had been rammed into his chest and leg. He managed to roll with it, and got to one knee, then rolled back a little when the second attack came. 

"Your time is up, Darkwing! The Liquidator kills bugs dead!" He was playing for keeps this time. Darkwing tried to lead his attacker's onslaughts down the road a bit more - about three more stores... 

He regained his footing and managed to run a short distance, before he had to jump to avoid the clutches of more watery arms. "I don't know why you're so upset, Soggy! It's not MY fault you had a lousy business plan!" 

That was a hit where it hurt. The Liquidator growled, and said nothing. Darkwing checked - yep, this was the right store. He took a deep breath, and stopped where he was. This was going to hurt. 

There is an art to being thrown through a glass window. Darkwing had, of course, perfected it some time ago - though it wasn't one he got to practice very often, and as a result, his trajectory through this particular glass window was more luck than anything else. Aside from a rip in the sleeve of his costume, he made it into the window display of the home furnishings store intact (though, naturally, quite wet). 

He grabbed the vacuum cleaner before he had completely caught his breath. The sign, advertising the merits of a vacuum that sucked up liquids as well as solids, fell to the ground. The cord, miraculously still plugged into the wall outlet from a much-earlier demonstration that afternoon, stretched as taut as it could go. And Darkwing called triumphantly, "Clean-up in aisle seven!" and pressed the "on" switch. 

The Liquidator, just within range, had a moment to recognize his fate. He had less than a moment to react. The rush of the vacuum cleaner was pretty loud, so Darkwing wasn't sure exactly _what_ he heard, but he was reasonably certain that he'd recognized a falsetto "What a world!" just before the Liquidator disappeared down the suction tube. 

He switched the machine off, and waited. 

All was silent. 

Off in the distance, he heard a police siren; right here and now, however, he was the victor, the champion, and - or so it seemed at the moment - the only one left in the whole city . 

Darkwing breathed in his triumph, and managed to feel satisfied with his solitude for another five seconds longer before it occurred to him that there was no chance he'd be on the evening news without a good video of that fight. 

Stupid empty streets.

* * *

The sun had set, and no one had turned on any lights, so the house was dark. 

Regardless, even in the near-blackness of their living room, it was still clear that the lasers had shut off. They weren't moving anymore, and the red lights on them had gone off entirely. Herb thought the bars had lifted from the windows as well, and he was sure he'd heard the steel reinforcement slide away from the front door. 

"Herb," said Binkie's voice tremulously at his shoulder, "do you think it's safe to move yet?" 

Herb considered the question, and finally shook his head. "Nah. We're all outta pillows, so we got nothin' to test with." He put his arm around Binkie, and with his other arm he gathered his sons close to himself. "Better ta stay here 'till mornin', and see how it looks then," he said reassuringly. 

The family sighed, and tried to sleep.

* * *

**END**

Next: The Webfoot Chronicles! (wow... full circle!)

* * *

_A/N: This is an abbreviated version of the notes I have for this story. The rest will go up when I (finally) post the fic on my website. Until then:  
1) This story was originally written back in 1996, under the title "Liquid Romance". However, when I started to revise it, I soon realized I disliked nearly everything about it and I just trashed about 95 of it and started anew. The difference in the title reflects a difference in the story's focus: not only was the Liquidator the "b" plot, after the romance stuff, but the resolution was COMPLETELY different. I'll have more details in my later notes. _

2) This is the second story that I have written "as you go" on and I have to say that I'm surprised by how much impact that kind of release has on the content of the story both in direct comments and in just general reader feedback. Mainly, when I started working on this fic I knew how the Drake/Beth conversation was going to go. I thought I knew how the LP/Beth conversation was going to go; a week or so before I wrote the scene, though, after having this fic percolate in my head for about **eight years**, I suddenly realized that LP was going to tell her how he felt. In all the years this story was in my head that had never happened! But it HAD to happen now. So it changes - well, everything, really. I have to rewrite bits of "The House on Avian Way", obviously, and rethink a few other things. But I'm glad he said it, because Gos was right: too many secrets and they'll all go crazy. 

3) Other areas that were influenced by readers were the "reveal" regarding Licky being H. Tuo - I never intended it to be a big surprise, but so many people started saying it was obvious that I thought I'd better move the realization up or else people might start thinking the characters were dumb for not realizing. G And it was a conversation of sorts with icequeenkitty that made me realize that Beth could help DW in this case, using SCIENCE! So anyway, I have to give a big thanks to all the people who review and take an interest in the fics; you guys really make a difference, don't think you don't. :) 

4) Licky's plot: Was really, really hard for me. One of the biggest hurdles in revising this fic was figuring out what exactly Licky was doing. Once I realized that, at heart, Licky is basically an extortionist, the plot fell into place a bit better. But it was still very hard; never, ever let anyone tell you that writing the Liquidator is not hard. THEY ARE LYING TO YOU. No, but seriously - his dialogue is hard but his character is even harder, since Licky is the only member of the Fearsome Five who only had one solo episode. I think he's quite smart and especially very business-savvy and sneaky, and although he's crazy, he's not crazy the same way that Quackerjack and Megavolt are. 

5) And finally, the Beth/LP stuff. I know I left things pretty lousy for both of them. The next story is going to deal more directly with that aspect. Man, I'm so mean to those crazy kids! But to me, the better payoff comes with more struggles. Your mileage may vary. What will happen next? Will LP stick around after Beth's apparent rejection? Will Beth finally open her fool eyes and stop wishing for something she could very easily have? Will the next story actually answer either of those questions???? Please tune in and see! 

6) Finally, I tend to drop little references to a ton of things in my fics. To keep the length down I am NOT going to mention them here (I never have yet anyway) but for those who are interested they will be in the notes I put up on my website (I always mention them there).

* * *

Story and situation copyright Rebecca Littlehales, 1996-2007. All characters are owned by The Walt Disney Company, and are used without permission, except for Beth Webfoot and the majority of the one-shot characters, who were created by me. This story may be duplicated as long as it is not sold or altered in any form. You may not make money off of this story. You may not find some bizarre way to make it into boxer shorts or something. Actually, if you do manage, let me know... Now that I think about it, that sounds interesting. 


End file.
